AN ORCHARD PRINCESS By RALPH HENRY BARBOUR v«r UNIVERSITY OF NORTH CAROLINA A BOOK CARD Please keep this card in book pocket s s c 3 s 8 en £ r.-'f m t. ■ ' lo a ~:p" ii r* i— < ' S3 !>• [I » i h- .•-■ a m» ! ft? M* ■■T - t ^ r » CJ ft? n p -5 i - T" i • — - il s er» * I 1 [ 1 I I - 1 - THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF NORTH CAROLINA ENDOWED BY THB DIALECTIC AND PHILANTHROPIC SOCIETIES PS3503 .A559T35 0 7 I V * 4 VJw ■■"-. This book is due at the LOUIS R. WILSON LIBRARY on the last date stamped under "Date Due." If not on hold it may be renewed by bringing it to the library. DATE OVT DUE RET' DATE RFT DUE Ktl- ► Form No. 513 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS N ^fi't mcshTSm^ TL*« SHE LET THE HAND WITH THE 1IKCSII FALL DEJECTEDLY Page is AN ORCHARD PRINCESS BY RALPH HENRY BARBOUR AUTHOR OF "KITTY OF THE ROSES," ETC. With Illustrations by JAMES MONTGOMERY FLAGG PHILADELPHIA AND LONDON J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY 1905 Copyright, 1905 By J. B. Lippincott Company Published September, 1905 Electrotyped and Printed by J. B. Lippincott Company, Philadelphia, U.S.A. TO M. L. B. " The gold of the April sunshine, The sweet of the April breeze, The bluebird's note in yonder wood, The droning of the bees; The far hills' distant outline — All tender blues and grays — The April joy of the blossoming world, And the charm of April days." Eleanor C. Hull. ILLUSTRATIONS PAGE She let the hand with the brush fall dejectedly Frontispiece "That's a silly tune," said Miles.... 41 She arose quickly and crossed the grass to him 148 " do you know what you've done v she asked 215 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS As Miles Fallon left the cottage, loitered down the red brick walk, moist with the morning dew, and stepped into the road, he looked undecidedly east and west. Eastward was civiliza- tion— and the Misses Ruggles potter- ing about their little garden; west- ward lay a deserted country road bright with sunlight and spring green- ery. Miles turned westward. So did Bistre. Bistre was a ferocious-looking white 9 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS bull-dog with a brown spot over half his face and a tail which, although but a scant two inches long, could be at times remarkably expressive. This was one of the times. Trotting along at the man's side, Bistre threatened to wag that ridiculous stump out of existence. "That's all right," said Miles, sooth- ingly. "Please don't forget in your enthusiasm that we are seeking adven- ture, you and I. Kindly bear in mind the fact that I am mounted upon my milk-white charger and, with lance in rest, am caracoling along the highway in search of an imprisoned princess. As you're not particularly imagina- tive, perhaps you'd better remain just a dog, though I had thought of having you for a squire. And, look here, Bis- tre, if you see the Princess and I don't, you must bark; not too fiercely, you AN ORCHARD PRINC understand, for princesses are a *bi timid, I believe, but just loud enough to attract my attention. You sdbeV* Bistre wagged his tail comprehend- ingly and trotted ahead. "Do you know," continued Miles, thoughtfully, "I fancy it wouldn't be a bad thing for me if I should find a princess? There's no doubt but that I ought to marry and settle down. It's really time. The first thing I know I'll have gray hairs and a high, thoughtful forehead, and then even the scullery maid, to say nothing of the Princess, won't cast a look at me. I can afford to marry, too; I haven't that excuse any longer. But, of course, the Prin- cess mustn't have too expensive tastes ; a comfortable house outside of town, now, with a horse or two, or a 'bubble,' would be quite within our means. We could go up to the city 11 once in/a while for a month or so, an( we could travel a bit. I wonder ii princesses like to travel? Those in the story-books are usually depicted sitting in front of a window doing em- broidery. Such a wife would be eco- nomical, Bistre, but dull, dre'ful dull! I think when we find the Princess we'll just ask her first of all, right off the handle, so to speak, whether she em- broiders. If she does" — he shook his head sadly — "if she does, we'll just pass on and look for another one. You see, I don't know Battenberg from a poached egg, and after awhile convex ation would be almost certain to lag."': He went on silently for a ways. Then a grass-grown lane turned stealthily off from the road and strag- gled between vine-covered stone walls along the edge of an apple orchard, and unconsciously his steps followed 12 V > AN ORCHARD PRINCESS Bistre's. A cloud of tiny yellow U terflies arose in front of him and set- tled to earth again when he had passed. A bluebird sang lustily on a nearby tree, observing the passer curi- ously with head held perkily on one side. Presently the lane began to as- cend the hill, and Miles 's limbs pro- tested lazily. Seating himself on a wall where the top stones had hospi- tably fallen into the orchard, he found his pipe and pouch and began leisurely to fill the blackened bowl, while his gaze wandered idly over the meadow the curving road, and the line of co tages basking in the morning sunlight Bistre, after nosing about along the walls in half-hearted search for mice' or squirrels, sank down at the mari feet and observed him questioningly with the tip of his pink tongue showing between his teeth. When the pipe was 13 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS lighted, Miles took a knee into his hands and continued the one-sided conversation. "There might be little princes and princesses, too," he said. "I should like that, Bistre. I believe I am natu- rally domestic. To be sure, it never occurred to me before, but there's something about — the air — the — the — ang it, I don't know what it is ! But whatever it is, old chap, it has set me thinking along unusual lines; think- ing, in fact, of subjects which I am not /certain it is proper for a bachelor to consider. I wonder if you ever felt the way I do this morning! Did you ever think, Bistre, that you'd like to have a home and a wife and children and — and a Tabby cat! There, don't get excited ! There 's no cat around here ; I just mentioned a supposititious one. What are you looking so cynical 14 AN ORCHARD PRINC about ? I know ; you've had a wife and children, you rascal ! Where are thev ? How comes it you're gallivanting around up here in the role of a bache- lor? Bistre, I fear you're a gay dog! There's a look — an expression " Miles shook his head disapprov- ingly. Bistre, aroused from his leth- argy by the mention of "cat," scram- bled heavily over the wall and wandered away amongst the trees. Once he had encountered a cat in an apple-tree ; the recollection brought a sparkle of pleasure to his brown eyes ; there was no harm in having a look; you never could tell about cats ! Presently Miles, lost in his thoughts, heard a low growl. He took his pipe from his mouth, his knee from his hands, and looked around. Bistre was not in sight. In the act of returning the pipe again he heard a louder growl 15 J!?- \ N ORCHARD PRINCESS- from behind him, a growl that was hal a bark and half a throaty gurgles- growl plainly meant to convey a warn- ing. Miles turned again. ''Wonder what the silly beast has found?" he muttered. "Perhaps — why, of course, it's the Princess !" Smiling whimsically, he lowered himself cautiously over the wall and bent so that he could look under the low-hanging clusters of pink blossoms. A dozen yards away stood the dog, his head turned questioningly toward the man and his ridiculous stump wag- ging excitedly. Miles crept toward him. As he went, dodging the sprays of bloom, into the deep droning of the bees and the chattering of the birds crept a new note, the musical tinkling of running water. The ground sloped before him, and when he stood at Bis- tre's side he found himself looking 16 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS down into a little glade through which a tiny brook tumbled. Beyond it the orchard began again ; but here was an implanted space of lush grass and forget-me-nots and violets and- and Miles turned wonderingly to the dog. ' ' The Princess ! " he whispered. Bistre wagged his tail in a way which said as plainly as you like, ''Of course; who else?" At a little distance, just beyond the blossom-laden branches of an apple- tree, stood an easel, from the top of which hung a blue sun-bonnet. On the easel was a canvas, a confused blur of pink and green. Before the canvas, brush in hand, sat a girl. The shadows had travelled eastward since she had placed her stool, and a flood of sun- light was upon her, tingeing her white 2 17 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS gown with warm tones, dyeing her cheek with a deeper pink, and adding new glory to the gold of her hair. From where Miles stood and silently gazed his fill the girl's face was sil- houetted softly against the shadowed greenery beyond. She was quite young, — perhaps twenty-one or two, — slender, radiant with youth and 1th, and beautiful beyond any pic- ured princess of Miles 's acquaint- ance. She wore a white skirt and waist, and a blue painting apron was thrown across her lap as she sat. Once while he looked she let the hand with the brush fall dejectedly and gazed for a moment at the canvas before her; he could see the little frown creep across the white forehead. Then the brush sought the vivid pal- ette again, the golden head bent to- ward the easel, and the work went on. 18 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS ' ' A princess indeed ! ' ' thought Miles. "A princess with hair like the gold of sunlight and cheeks like the blossoms above her ! An Orchard Princess!" He experienced a feeling of exultation seemingly out of propor- tion to the mere finding of a girl paint- ing a view of pink blossoms and green, sunlit foliage. He felt as though something which all his life had been foredoomed to happen had suddenly come to pass. There was no under- standing just what he did feel, and he didn't try. He merely stood there and looked and looked, until pres- ently Bistre, perhaps finding the in- action irksome, growled again. It wasn't a savage growl, but the girl at the easel heard it and turned and saw them. Miles stepped forth from conceal- ment. So did Bistre. 19 In spite of the fact that Miles Fallon had spent many of his thirty-one years in running about the country, he had received an average education. That is, he had struggled through college, — "without," as he said, "having been branded A.B. or A.M.," — and had sub- sequently taken a brief post-graduate course in what he called "Society 1." Subsequently, and perhaps as a pro- test against what he learned in that course, he went to Arizona and min- gled with the alkali and adobe. Be- sides supplying him with material for the novels which had made him well known, his vears in the West and 20 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS f Southwest had been rather more J&F cational than his college life. Wat- and he realized the fact with regret- neither his college, social, nor Wester education had prepared him for an emergency such as the present one. Xone of his courses had instructed him as to the proper words with which to address a strange young lady discov- ered painting a landscape under an apple-tree ! However, there was nothing to be gained by railing at the deficiencies o his education. Having removed his. cap as a preliminary, he sought co fusedly about in his mind for words And he found them at last ! ' ' I hope we have not alarmed you ? That was what he was going to s But he never said it. For, just as he had composed his features into proper expression of courteous con 21 k \ ft AN ORCHARD PRINCESS <*rs&£< cern and had opened his mouth to emit the brilliant remark, he observed that the girl had turned her head away and was once more unconcernedly paint- ing! By that time, at least two pre- cious seconds having elapsed, he was but twenty feet away from her, and the psychological moment had passed. Plainly they had not alarmed her; jerefore to ask would be nonsensical. ither he must think of another re- mark, and that quickly, or he must retreat. If he kept on in his present course he would run straight into the easel and upset it; and while that would undoubtedly "break the ice," it might not prove the happiest sort of introduction! Weakly he swerved aside and proceeded on a course which would take him behind her. It would also take him to the brook, and he saw with misgiving that the ground on 22 AN ORCHARD PRINCES either side of the little stream was wet and marshy. He would cut a sorrv figure indeed as he went floundering up to his ankles in water. But to turn back was not to be thought of ; better to perish., to drown miserably before her eyes, than to retrace his steps and virtually confess that he had been spy- ing on her. He went heroically on. Bistre heroically followed. And then, at the last moment, with one foot squishing down into a clump of forget-me-nots, he turned and stole a glance at the girl — and knew he was saved! Her back was toward him, but something — perhaps the half- hearted way in which she dabbed a brush onto a region of the palette where there was no paint, perhaps the strained set of her bent head — told him that she was not so indifferent to his fate as she would have it appear; 23 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS that, in short, she was waiting, with what emotions he could not tell, to hear his feet floundering in the grassy morass. But he saw more than the girl's back, and he drew away from the brink, stumbled over Bistre, who had followed him faithfully and closely into danger, and, with one foot gurgling musically in its wet shoe, drew near the girl. Taking off his cap again, he bowed politely to the back of a white shirt-waist. Then he coughed apologetically. The girl looked around over her shoulder quite calmly. "I beg your pardon," he said, "but there's a large green cater- pillar " Up jumped the girl, over went the stool, away went the brush. "Oh!" she cried, faintly. V Where?" 24 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS "Viewed transversely, about in the centre of your back, ' ' replied Miles. "Oh!" It was a shuddering excla- mation this time, and it went to his heart. She whisked about, and — "Won't you please — please !" she stammered. He stepped gallantly to the rescue, secured the enemy between thumb and forefinger, and tossed him into the brook. Bistre trotted after to inves- tigate. "Thank you," said the girl. "I — I'm so glad you saw it !" "So am I," answered Miles, enthu- siastically. "I can't bear caterpillars," she con- tinued, with a shudder. "They're so — so creepy ! ' ' "They are," responded Miles. He 'd have agreed to anything, I think. He rescued the brush from the inter- 25 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS ested attention of a bumble-bee, picked up the stool, and then allowed himself a look at the canvas. The girl, having deftly repaired imaginary injury to her hair and accepted the recovered paint-brush, shot little curious glances at him. What she saw could scarcely have been displeasing. He was tall, erect, broad of shoulder, and deep of chest. Despite the fact that it was as yet but the last week of April, his skin was tanned to a becoming shade of brown. He was a good-looking chap, although his features boasted no great regular- ity. Perhaps his mouth, scarcely hid- den by a closely trimmed brown mous- tache, and his eyes, grayish blue, honest and kindlv, were accountable for his attractiveness. The eyes had a whimsical twinkle within them, even when the mouth was grave, that gave 26 ^/"AN ORCH/ •> the face an expression of humor. For; the rest, his short brown hair was a trifle wavy under his cloth cap, and his movements, so slow and deliberate as to almost seem lazy, could not dis- guise the muscular strength of the well-built body. So long he stared silently at the picture that at length she was moved to apology. "It hasn't gone very well this morn- ing," she said, hurriedly. "I — I am quite hopeless about it." ' ' Well ! ' ' He turned to her in gen- uine astonishment. "It seems fairly wonderful to me! It reminds me of- n "Of what?" she asked, smilingly, as he paused. 1 ' Of — well, just a bit of verse I read somewhere." He hadn't quoted poetry since he was a school-boy, he thought, and the idea of doing so now it AN ORCHARD PRINCESS embarrassed him. ' ' It was just a little thing, but somehow it stuck ; and your picture brought it back." "Won't you tell it to me?" she asked, eagerly. "I'm afraid it won't sound like much," he answered, "but " The gold of the April sunshine, The sweet of the April breeze, The bluebird's note in yonder wood, The droning' of the bees; The far hills' distant outline — - All tender blues and grays- The April joy of the blossoming world, And the charm of Api'il days." ' ' Thank you, ' ' she said. " It is very sweet. And — and my canYas really made you think of those lines?" "Yes." "I'm glad; you — you've encour- aged me so much! I was feeling 23 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS rather out of sorts with it before you — before the caterpillar came." "Then you owe something to the caterpillar after all. I doubt if he really deserved his banishment. ' : "I think I owe it rather to you," she laughed. "I shall go ahead now and feel that it's worth finishing." ' ' That 's right ; forget your discour- agement ; forget everything that hap- pened B. C." "B. C.f" she repeated, politely in- quiring. "Before the Caterpillar," he an- swered, gravely. "Oh!" She laughed softly and seated herself again at the easel. Bis- tre, having failed in his search, re- turned and sniffed courteously at her gown. She turned and patted his flat head doubtfully asked. 29 "Is he gentle?" she AN ORCHARD PRINCESS "Absolutely," he replied. "In fact, he is something of a poseur. He tries his hardest to look desperate and savage, and succeeds fairly well, but in reality he is the gentlest dog that ever ran from a cat." "What's his name?" "Bistre, so called because of the brown spot which disfigures his coun- tenance, and which his master con- siders a badge of beauty. ' ' ' ' Oh, then he is not }Tour dog ? ' ' "No; he belongs to Mr. Brough. I am staying with him — that is, with Mr. Brough." "Really?" Miles thought she ob- served him with a sudden access of interest and felt a qualm of jealousy ; he wondered if she knew Hunter. "You're a nice dog," she remarked, stroking Bistre's beauty spot. Bistre closed his eyes and looked absolutely * ' AN ORCHARD PRINi^ silly. "But I must get to work,"«:,sh added, aud turned resolutely to her canvas. Miles took it as a dismissal. "I suppose you will hardly finish it this morning?" he asked. She shook her head. "Xo, it will take another day," she answered. ' ' Then perhaps I may be permitted to see it again — when it is further along?" he suggested. "Certainly, if you would like to," she answered readily, calmly. He almost wished she wasn't quite so self- possessed. He didn't feel self-pos- sessed, not the least in the world ; and why should she? "Thank you," he answered, "I should like to. Good-morning." "Good-morning," she replied, and gave him the briefest sort of a per- functory little smile, turning to her 31 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS canvas once more and apparently dis- missing him utterly from her mind. "Come on, Bistre," said Miles, glumly. Man and dog climbed the little slope again and disappeared from sight amongst the apple-trees. A moment passed. The brook rippled and sang, the bees droned from the clustered blossoms, and overhead a lark, wing- ing across the blue, filled the world for a space with limpid melody. Then, slowly, the girl at the easel lifted her head and, turning, looked up the slope. Ill Maple Green begins at Hunter Brough's studio and ends at the Maple Tree Inn, a quarter of a mile away. In point of fact, it is only a string of summer studios lining" one side of a well-kept country road in the Con- necticut hills. On the other side lie fields and orchards, squared and quadrangled by stone walls, and curving concavely upward and away into a green ridge. Here and there, always at the end of a narrow lane leading from the highway, a farm- house peers tranquilly forth upon the little studios from a nest of trees, like a dignified mother lien keeping a watchful eye upon a brood of flighty chickens. And to the square-cornered, rigidly proper farm-houses those studios must look flighty enough, strange roofs, dipping and slanting in AN ORCHARD PRINCESS all directions ! Such absurd windows of all shapes and sizes, stuck in such absurd places! Such queer little stoops and porches set impertinently in the most unlikely spots ! And then the materials used — stone, brick, shin- ies, stucco ! Not a respectable clap- board from one end of the community to the other ! (The farm-houses, being a locality where stone in any quan- tity may be had for the lifting, are, naturally enough, built of wood.) But the farm-houses and their occupants have long since stopped marvelling at the strange studios and their stranger denizens ; one can get used to any- thing ! The farmers have even come to look upon the artists, if not with respect, at least with tolerance, — tol- erance composed of about equal meas- ures of gratitude and contempt; for the artists are eager purchasers of 34 milk, butter, eggs, and vegetables,Vmj pay fabulous prices. Behind the studios the ground falls away to the floor of the little valley over which, girt with alder and wil- low, a stream winds its way. It is a noisy, flippant little stream, filled with musical cascades and dotted with deep brown pools which promise trout but never fulfil the promise ; it tinkles and bubbles and gurgles and tries to im- press the world with a sense of its importance. There is a good deal of human nature about that stream. Being only an ornament, it fancies itself quite a bit as a necessity. How- ever, importance is only relative, and I dare say to the trees and bushes that line its banks that absurd little brook seems a veritable Mississippi. Be- yond the stream the ground rises again rather abruptly and climbs the 35 V i AN ORCHARD PRINCESS side of a very respectable hill whereon a forest of young maples holds sway. From the backs of many of the studios porches have been thrown out over the bank where, high above the mur- muring brook, the citizens of Maple Green sit when the shadows lengthen on summer afternoons and sip tea from quaint cups and talk a gibberish far beyond the comprehension of the birds and squirrels listening amazedly from nearby branches. From May to October flowers bloom from one end of Maple Green to the other; crimson ramblers clamber up snowy white lattices and dispute the eaves with wistaria and honeysuckle; nasturtiums flame along the borders and sweet peas flutter like dainty but- terflies among the trellises ; stocks, sweet-william, dahlias, bachelor's-but- tons, and phlox— for Maple Green af- 36 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS fects the old-fashioned in flowers as well as in furnishings — fill the little gardens; so that as one travels east- ward in summer or early fall along the highway his eyes must seek the right of the road occasionally for very re- lief from so much color. This evening it was mild for April. The air was still and soft. Above the meadow slopes three stars gleamed tremblingly like drops of molten silver spattered against a blue canopy. The shadows were long and purple against the rose-gold light which bathed the little valley. The damp of evening brought forth a fragrance from the earth, a subtle Essence of Spring. Down the long road Maple Green was astir. The incipient sidewalk held here and there a moving couple re- turning from the post-office or bent upon a call. The front porches were AN ORCHARD PRINCESS mostly occupied. Nearer at hand the Misses Buggies, in straw garden hats tied with ribbons under their chins, were at work over their flower-beds. Miss Anamite Ruggles operated a vivid green watering-pot ; Miss Venet- ian Ruggles used a rake with lady-like dexterity. Their soft voices reached Miles where he sat on one of the white benches of the little uncovered stoop. "Forgive me for differing with you, dear, won't you? But the coreop- sis did much better . . . morning sun- light ..." "I can scarcely believe that I am mistaken, dear . . . remember per- fectly that the candytuft was in the corner and that the coreopsis, dear, ..." Hunter B rough came out in a cloud of smoke, carrying his guitar and fol- 38 / AN ORCHARD PRIN lowed by the faithful Bistre, an seated himself on the opposite bench. The landscape painter was stout, squat, broad of shoulder, and deep of chest, with a large square face almost hidden by a tangle of brown whiskers. His eyes were small and bright and of a faded blue shade. He looked like a successful commission merchant. His hands were a never-ceasing wonder to Miles. They were broad and pudgy, short of finger and incompetent-look- ing. And yet they performed wonders with the paint-brush and worked mira- cles with the strings of a guitar. Throwing one huge leg over the other and leaning his head against the trellis at his back, he began to play softly. At moments the volumes of smoke bursting from under his thick mous- tache hid his face from view. He had a deep voice, which, gruff and almost 39 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS discordant in conversation, was rich and sweet when he sang. " The Bachelor ! The Bachelor ! The man who lives in joy ! Whose cares are few, whose friends are true, Whose peace holds no alloy; Who lights his pipe and fills his bowl, Cries ' Fie !' to care and strife — 0 ! Who takes a sip from ev'ry lip And leads a merry life — 0 ! "God bless the jolly Bachelor, Who's ever blithe and gay; Who, when he won't, my lad, he don't, And when he would, he may!" Miles grinned across through the in- termingling smoke. Hunter Brough tinkled the strings and went on. " The Bachelor ! The Bachelor ! The wight who lives alone, With friends to share his pleasures fair, Bnt none to hear his moan ; 40 ' ' T>n » n\> THAT'S A 8II.I.Y TINK," SAID MILKS AN ORCHARD PRINCESS With elbows out and heels run in, For lacking of a wife — 0 ! With lips to kiss, but no lips his, He leads a sorry life — 0 ! " God help the povern Bachelor When heart and hair grow gray, With little joy for aught, my boy, Save having of his way !" "That's a silly tune," said Miles. The other blinked across at him calmly. "There's many a true word spoken in song," he answered, solemnly. "How old are yon, Miles?" "Thirty-one, please your Honor.'' "You ought to be married," said the artist, severely. "You're wasting vour time." 1 ' The deuce you say ! Well, from a confirmed, disgruntled old bach like you that comes well!" "It would do you good in more ways 41 __N ORCHARD PRINCESS than one," continued his friend,' calmly. "It would settle you " ' ' I fear it would ! ' ' "And give you a new point of view — which you need! The idea of a novelist — a successful one at that — never having been in love ! Poppy- cock ! ' ' ' ' Never in love ! ' ' exclaimed the other. "You wrong me! You don't know all!" "Well, were you?" ' ' Once, ' ' answered Miles, sadly. ' ' I will tell you about it. She was " "No, you won't, either!" inter- rupted Hunter. "You've never been decently in love in your life. And you pretend to write novels ! To be sure, you fight shy of love-scenes ; I '11 give you credit for knowing a few of your limitations; but you've got an infer- nal cheek to write at all under the cir- 42 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS f7 cumstances. lou're only half site bench the strings tentatively, as though searching for a forgotten refrain. Presently he found it and began to sing an accompaniment softly, under his breath: " The world is very wide, dear, The heavens very high, And save the winds and tide, dear, 'Tis I alone know why, 'Tis I alone know why. " The earth was made so grand, dear The heav'ns so far above, That you might understand, dear, How wide and deep my love, How wide and deep my love." Nature repeated herself the next morning. There was the same blue sky, the same pile of downy white clouds in the west, the same ethereal gold flooding the April land, the same stillness, as though Nature held finger to lip. And, as before, the air was sweet with the fragrance of apple- blossoms. Miles watched Hunter Brough seat himself in the Inn carryall, a canvas wrapped in newspapers held carefully on his knees, and disappear in the direction of the railroad. So did Bis- tre. Bistre had a philosophy of his 52 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS own, and a clause of it was, "Recog- nize the inevitable and accept it with good grace." Having been thrust ig- nominiously from the carriage five separate times, he realized that Fate was against him and accepted her de- cision. He retired to the stoop and viewed the disappearing vehicle with well-simulated relief, glancing at Miles as if to say, "Well, I'm glad we don't have to go to town, aren't you?" Miles prepared his pipe for an after- breakfast smoke, snapped his fingers at Bistre, and set off westward along the highway. When he came to the grass-grown lane he turned into it, vaulted the stone wall, and, whistling carelessly, made his way through the orchard. The sunlight slanted down amidst the branches and kissed the pink petals and the tiny green leaves. The grass was wet with dew; each 53 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS blade held its quota of quivering, shim- mering gems. The bees had already begun their long day's task, and their drooning chant formed a musical back- ground for the florid paeans of unseen birds. When he reached the edge of the little clearing, Miles 's gaze darted eagerly toward the scene of yester- day's meeting. There again were the easel and the girl. But to-day the golden hair was hidden by the blue sun-bonnet, and Miles could see naught of the face which since the day before had filled his thoughts to the exclusion of all else. ' ' Good-morning, ' ' he called. The sun-bonnet turned until the pic- ture it framed was visible. A moment the girl looked at him in silence, and Miles felt a stab of disappointment; it was as though she were striving to recollect him. Then, — 54 ^ AN ORCHARD PRINC "Good-morning," she answered.* Bistre trotted to her side with an assurance that the man envied him, and had his head scratched with the end of her brush. Miles followed. ' ' How is the picture getting along f ' ' he asked. ' ' You can see for yourself, ' ' she an- swered. ' ' I haven 't done much vet : I am waiting for the sun to get up a little higher; the shadows, you see, are still rather weak." She turned toward him and he caught a fleeting glimpse of soft blue eyes under golden-brown lashes, of pink cheeks, and of a gleam of white teeth between the parted lips. Then he was looking down on to a blue cot- ton sun-bonnet again. He detested that bonnet. He moved his gaze to the canvas. The picture had not grown much ; here and there the sketchy 55 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS charcoal strokes still showed against the creamy canvas. "Do you sell your pictures?" he asked. ' ' Oh, yes ; that is, when I can. ' ' "And this one? It will be for sale?" "I suppose so." She seemed a bit surprised. "What I meant was," he hurried to explain, ' ' that I 'd like to buy it if — if you decide to sell it. ' ' "Thank you," she replied. "But perhaps you had better wait until you see it finished before you commit your- self. It may not turn out so well, after all." "Has the discouragement re- turned?" he asked. "Surely, on a morning like this discouragement isn't possible!" "In my case," she said, gravely, \ 56 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS "discouragement is no respecter of — weather conditions. Still, so far it has not troubled me to-day. ' ' "But — forgive me if I seem imper- tinent— but surely it can possess no great terror for you, since you are able to do such things as that." He nodded toward the canvas, yet kept his eyes on the tip of the obnoxious bonnet, fearful lest he miss a glimpse of the face beneath. ' ' Surely success and discouragement can't keep com- pany. ' ' "Are you never discouraged?" she asked, looking up. "I? Why, yes, sometimes; just a little." "And vet vou are successful, far more so than I." "Well, but — how do you know I am successful?" "Isn't it success to write books peo- 57 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS pie like, to write well — and to sell well!" "Oh! Then I am not incognito to you ? ' ' She laughed softly, and the sun- bonnet moved from side to side. No. You see, Maple Green is not so large that a new-comer can remain long a mystery. ' ' "I see. I am sorry, though; I had "hqped you would mistake me for a Wandering Person of Importance, per- chance even for a— a prince. ' ' "No," — she raised her face and ob- served him gravely for a long moment, no, I don't think I should have mistaken you for a prince. ' ' •'Oh, I say! Why not, now? Eeally, princes aren't so different from the rest of us." "Perhaps, but — you don't look like a prince. ' ' 58 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS ' ' I am sorry, ' ' he said again. ' ' I — I'd like very much to be one." "You should be satisfied with what you are — and have," she answered, lightly. "Maybe. There's one thing, how- ever, that I haven't got, and which I'd like very much to have." "Yes! And what is that?" She dipped her brush in green paint, wig- gled it toward the centre of the palette, leaving a zigzag of color across the polished cedar, and deep- ened a shadow on the canvas before her. ' ' Information, ' ' answered Miles, watching her hand. "You see, you have very much the best of it; you know my name and my profession, while I — well, I think you are a prin- cess, but I can't be certain. Any scraps of information on the subject 59 { . h CSS 0 which /you may be willing to let fall will be gratefully received. ' ' ' ' Oh, I am Miss Lynde ; profession, landscape painter in oils; present place of abode, Maple Tree Inn. Are you happier ? ' ' "Infinitely. Thank you very much. As you have said, Maple Green is small, and naturally " "Why is it," she laughed, "that a man always tries to apologize for his curiosity!" "I don"t think I was apologizing," answered Miles. "I was merely — ex- plaining. ' ' ' ' Oh, then I beg your pardon. You see, it sounded like an apology. There, I think I can get to work now ; the shadows are much better." "Then I will leave you," said Miles, cheerfully. "I don't want to interfere with your work. ' ' 60 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS "Thank you," she answered. M fore you go, would you mind pushing my paint-box a little nearer!" "Not at all," he replied, as he obeyed. "Thank you ever so much," she said. ' ' Good-morning. ' ' "Good-morning," echoed Miles. Thereupon he ascended the slope fully twelve feet and seated himself on a convenient hummock. The position had its advantages; he was rather more in front of her than he had been, (^\ and it was possible to look under the^ sun-bonnet. He took advantage of the possibility now and found himsel gazing into a pair of surprised blue eyes. ^ " f ji 1 ' I thought ! ' ' she began. "You thought?" he asked, concern- edly. ' ' I thought you were going. ' ' 61 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS ' ' I have gone, ' ' he answered, calmly. "Oh!" "Yes, I didn't want to be in your way, so I took myself off. I'm really rather thoughtful of others. Come here, Bistre; you are not to disturb Miss Lynde, sir. You must retire into the distance with me and share my exile. ' ' "I fear you don't know the differ- ence between distance and fore- ground," said the girl. "I am not up on matters pertaining to art," he answered, easily. "We are Philistines, Bistre and I. But please don't let us disturb you. We are quite content to sit here and only sj^eak when we 're spoken to. ' ' "On that condition," she rejDlied, "you may remain." "Thank you," he murmured. "Do you mind if I smoke a pipe ! ' ' 62 r~ AN ORCHARD PRINCESS ' ' Since you are no longer here, ' ' she answered, gravely, "how can it con- cern me?" ' ' But — er — if I hadn 't gone ? ' ' "I shouldn't have minded." He lighted his briar, leaned elbows on knees, and watched her frankly. Dislike the sun-bonnet as he might, he was forced to acknowledge that it made a charming setting for her face, throwing it into the softest of shadow save where a sunbeam crept past its jealous edge and danced and quivered on the firmly rounded chin. Occasion- ally, when the head was turned a little toward him, he saw glints of blue under the long golden-brown lashes, and at such moments felt strange thrills of excitement. He found him- self wondering with a leaping heart what it would be to have those blue eyes looking straight into his from 63 • \ \ - AN ORCHARD PRINCESS a distance of — well, say the length of his pipe! He wondered what he would say — do ! He sighed — and wondered why. Then he puffed furiously at his pipe until Bistre, coughing and sneezing, dragged him- self away with a reproachful look from his round brown eyes. Had one coldly dissected the face nder the bonnet feature by feature, one might have found cause for dis- satisfaction. Perhaps the face was a trifle long for absolute beauty, the cheeks a trifle too thin. Perhaps, too, one might have found fault with the chin; maybe it was a bit too firmly formed for a woman's face, a little too strong in contour despite its smooth roundness. But Miles, for once at least, was not analytical. To him the face was absolutely the most charming, the most wonderful, he had 64 ever seen. But one thing troulne him, and that only dimly; the mouth drooped a little at the ends of the sweet red lips as he had once seen a child's mouth droop during a moment of sorrow. The general expression of the girl's face was one of tender gravity that Miles thought adorable, but the pathos of the drooping lips disturbed him. He wondered whether she was unlfappy. It might be; he knew nothing of her beyond her name and profession. Perhaps — and there was a sudden dismal sinking of his heart at thought of the possibility — perhaps she had had an unfortunate love affair! At twenty-two — and he judged her to be of that age — it is pos- sible to have experienced both love and disappointment. The thought aroused in him both an absurd jeal- ousy and an equally absurd desire to s 65 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS comfort and protect her. And yet — and he was forced to acknowledge it ruefully — she didn't look the least bit in the world like a person requiring either sympathy or protection. There was a confidence about her every look nd gesture that made the idea seem utterly incongruous. Miles found himself wishing selfishly that she was not so evidently capable and self- reliant. His pipe had gone out during his period of reflection, and he scratched a match to relight it. At the sound the girl turned and looked at him in smiling desjDair. "I wish ! Can't you see," she asked, helplessly, "that I can't paint while you sit there staring at me!" "Was I staring?" he asked, hypo- critically. ^'Well, weren't you?" 66 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS "Oh, yes." ' ' But it — it makes me nervous ! I 'm not used to having folks around when I'm at work." "I see. Then you want me to go away? — that is, still farther away!" She hesitated, observing him per- plexedly. ' ' If only you 'd turn your back, ' ' she suggested. "I suppose I've no right to send you away, since this is no more my property than it is yours. But, really, it is so hard to paint when you know some one is looking at you. ' ' ''The correct thing for me to do," said Miles, thoughtfully, "would be to arise, — in this manner, — bow, — like this, — and say, 'My dear young lady, whether I have equal rights with you to remain on this property doesn't enter into the question. The mere fact that my presence — even at a dis- AN ORCHARD PRINCESS tance — annoys you is sufficient. I will retire at once.' " "Well?" she asked, as he finished. He seated himself again on the hum- mock. "That is what I ought to say," he answered, calmly. "What I do say is this : let us compromise. I will retire to the next available seat, which ap- pears to be some ten feet farther up the bank, — and, since it is in shade, must be very damp,— or I will remain where I am and half turn my back to you. You see, I shouldn't like to be guilty of the impropriety of turning my back entirely on a lady." "But I'd know you were there just the same," she objected, laughingly. Her laughter was so infrequent that Miles felt flushed with victoiy when- ever he summoned it. "Then I will go farther away," he 68 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS answered, promptly. "Only, if I should catch cold and have something serious, like — like hav fever or influ- enza, you'd reproach yourself, I'm sure. ' ' "Oh, dear!" she sighed, turning again to her canvas. "Stay where you like. ' ' "Thank you,'' he replied, grate- fully. "Shall I— er— half turn my back?" "I don't care what you do," she answered, bending her head away toward her palette. "Only, if you must stay, perhaps it would be better if you talked. ' ' "I should like it above all things! What shall I talk about?" "Anything; and please, please try to look somewhere else." "Well, I will try,'' he said, in a tone that didn't promise well for 69 (T^ ~-\ fkN. ORCHARD PRINCES success. He turned his gaze towa the tops of the apple-trees across th' glade and began, in a monotonous voice : "What verv lovelv weather we are having for the time of year. I am creditably informed that it is quite un- usual. Crops, I am told, are much farther advanced than they were at this time last year. The wheat is in splendid condition. The apple crop, if one is to judge by the quantity of blossoms, will be very large. I trust that it will prove so. I am very fond of apples. I like them in pies, in pud- dings, in sauce, and in cider ; although I don 't think they very often find their Way into the latter nowadays. I also like them baked, with an accompani- ment of cream and sugar. When I was somewhat younger I was not so discriminating, so particular. I liked 70 \ AN ORCHARD PRINCESS them most any old way then; cially hard and green." He paused, took a deep breath, and began again. "The apple is a very useful fruit. Without the apple we should have had no original sin. Perhaps, however, I may be mistaken there; possibly Eve would have eaten a pear instead. At all events, the apple — : — " "Mr. Fallon!" Miles, interrupted, brought his eyes to earth and fixed them upon the faces, of the girl. /'%, ' ' I beg your pardon ? ' ' he asked. "How do you think I can work?' she asked, despairingly. "You don't like apples, then? Bui you have only to indicate the subje you wish me to discourse on, Miss Lvnde. I assure vou I can talk intel- ligently, even interestingly, on almost 71 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS any subject under the sun. Please try me > > "Very well, then," she answered, maliciously, "tell me about your work; how you write your novels, where you find the characters, how you think of your plots." "Do you mean it?" he asked, de- jectedly. "Yes," she replied, firmly. "Well," he began, hesitatingly. Then there was a silence. Presently she looked up to find his gaze fixed upon her pleadingly. "I'd very much rather not, you know, ' ' he said. "Then you must behave yourself," she answered, severely. "I've only got a very little left to do, and when it is done I shall leave you to the undis- puted enjoyment of this spot. Mean- while, please don't disturb me with any more information about apples. 72 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS Tell me how you like Maple Green. Is it your first visit here ? ' ' "Yes, my first," he answered. "I like it very much. I especially like the outskirts of it — this spot, for in- stance." "Have you met the — the inhabi- tants?" ' ' Some ; the Misses Ruggles I have had the pleasure of meeting. ' ' She smiled above her brush. Aren't they delightful?" she asked. "Terrifying, I call them. Hunter took me around there the other day for afternoon tea. They asked me what I thought of Wagner's 'The Simple Life.' I said I didn't remem- ber of having heard it, but didn't care for "Wagner — pronouncing it with a waggish W for politeness — very much. I thought they looked pained and sur- AN ORCHARD PRINCESS prised. Afterwards Hunter told me that Wagner was a writer chap and that 'The Simple Life' was a book. You see, I spent the winter in Ari- zona and thereabouts, and 'The Sim- ple Life' hadn't reached there when I left." The girl at the easel laughed softly. "They're dear old souls, though," she said. "So old-fashioned and quaint; I think they live the simple life themselves. I've heard it said that they never paint a flower that hasn't come out of their own garden." "Their pictures, what I saw of them, seemed rather clever " said Miles, doubtfully. "Oh, they are! They've made a wonderful reputation for themselves and get fabulous prices. And no one has ever been able to tell Miss Ve- ridian's work from Miss Anamite's; 74 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS they paint just alike ; in fact, they do everything alike, and they look so much alike that it was a long time before I was able to tell which was > which." "Well, I dare say their paintings are very nice," Miles responded, "but I can't say that I ever saw flowers look just like theirs do." "That's because you haven't 'the cultivated eye,' " laughed the girl. "You should get them to explain to you about it." "Heaven forfend!" exclaimed Miles, devoutly. Presently, after he had watched her hand moving deftly before the canvas for a moment — "Then you have been here before this year?" he asked. 1 ' Oh, yes ; I was here last spring and again in the summer." "At the Inn?" 75 CHARD PRINCESS^ She nodded. "But isn't it — don't you find it & / bit lonesome — by yourself, I mean?" aThere was a little shrug of the slim shoulders. "It is better to be lonesome than bored," she answered, a trifle cyni- cally. Miles flushed. She turned swiftly and surprised the look on his face. ''Oh, I didn't mean it that way!" she cried, in dismay. "Please, I didn't, really! You'll believe me, won't you?" "Of course," he answered, smilingly. "But you might have meant it, and said it with good cause. I have been discourteous in forcing my presence on you as I have, and I dare say I have bored you horribly." "Please!" she cried again, plead- ingly. "You haven't! I had no 76 \ , AN ORCHARD PRINCESS ▼^ >£\ thought of you when I said ^13*1^ Won't you please believe me, Mr. Fallon?" " Certainly I will. And it's kind of you not to mean it — that way. Tell me, you've been in Paris, haven't you 8" ''Yes," she answered, in surprise. ' ' Why ? How did you know ? ' ' "By the way you shrugged your shoulders a moment ago. That shrug is caught only there." ' ' Oh, yes, I was there a year, study- (\ ing," she answered, a bit wistfully. W "And you wanted to stay longer?' he asked, softly. W "Yes, I wanted to stay longer. But I couldn't. Do vou know, I dream of going back to Paris some day as — a& some folks dream of going to Heaven ? Does that sound sacrilegious?" she asked, with a smile. 77 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS "I fancy I know the feeling," lie answered, gravely. "As for Paris, it holds little that I care for ; but once, a few years ago, I was taken ill and the doctors said I wouldn't pull through. I didn't care so much about the mere dying, but the thought that I would ever see the dawn on the mesas again, never again feel the warm breath of the Chinook on my face, was— hard. I suppose you feel that way about Paris." ' ' Yes. ' ' She had dropped the hand holding the brush and was gazing thoughtfully past him. "Yes," she rejDeated, softly, "that's the way I feel about Paris. It was a year of another life to me, a year of hard work, but a dear, sweet one." Her gaze wandered back to the canvas and, with a little sigh, she took up her work again. 78 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS ''And you had to leave — why?" asked Miles. "I was needed here, at home," she answered. "There!" She put down her brush and arose. "I mustn't touch it again. It's finished." Miles arose and went to the easel. After a moment he turned to find her eyes on him anxiously. "Oh, I like it immensely," he said, smilingly, answering her unspoken question. "But, as you know, I'm no judge. Like a multitude of other be- nighted souls, I only 'know what I like.' And I like that. But you haven't quite finished it, have you? Don't you usually sign them?" She smiled, dipped a small brush in the paint, and, stooping, printed "P. Lynde" in a lower corner. " 'P. Lynde,' " said Miles. "Now I wonder what that P. stands for." AN ORCHARD PRINCESS "I wonder," she said, gravely, closing her paint-box. "Priscilla?" yt- -She shook her head. "Er— not— not Polly?" Again she shook her head. ''Perhaps," she said, "it means just Miss Lynde." "No, I think it means more," he answered, shaking his own head. ' ' Of course one can find out." "Of course, if one asks the neigh- bors; but as that might be thought rather queer, I don't think — one will." "No, that's so. I shall have to look to you for the solution, after all. Some day you'll tell me, won't you?' ' ' I don 't see why I should, ' ' she an- swered, calmly. "Do you?" "Yes, I see — but I shan't tell you; at least, not at present," he answered, boldly. She shot a questioning and 80 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS somewhat troubled look from her blue eves. Then she took the canvas from the easel. "Here, let me help you," he begged. "You don't mean to say that you carry all this truck around every day?" "It's not heavy," she answered. "But you'll let me carry the easel and box for you?" "I'd rather you didn't trouble your- self," she answered. "But your way is mine, and if I may?" She bent her head without answer- ing and led the way down the glade toward the road. Miles followed. So did Bistre. V "Patty," murmured Miles. Hunter looked up from the letter lie was writing. ' ' Eh ? " lie asked. Miles started and observed him blankly. "Did you speak?" "I asked what you said," responded the other. " Oh ! Did I— say anything I ' ' "You did; you mentioned patties, 1 think." "Patties? Ah, I was probably thinking of lunch. ' ' "Well, you won't get patties, I guess," answered Hunter, dryly. "Think of cold roast beef and pickled 82 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS walnuts, salad and ale, if you must think of lunch. Only, as it is just a little after eleven, you had better make up your mind to have pa- tience." "Patience?" cried Miles, triumph- antly, sitting up so suddenly on the window-seat that Bistre went tum- bling to the floor. And, "Patience?" he repeated, questioningly, thought- fully. Hunter laid down his pen and looked across in bewilderment. "What under the sun is the matter with you this morning?" he growled. Miles settled back again amidst the cushions. "Er — it just occurred to me that I might amuse myself with the cards," he answered. Hunter grunted. "You'll find them in the drawer over there," he said. "But I hate to ^* 83 '• . AN ORCHARD PRINCESS think you find life so dull here that you have to play patience. Of all occu- pations in the world ! ' ' "Oh, everything goes on a day like this," answered his guest. But he made no move toward the drawer in- dicated by his host. Out-of-doors a warm rain was falling, washing the young leaves of the maples across the vine, and with its gentle patter dull- ing the song of the little stream. The studio windows were open at Miles 's elbow, and now and then a raindrop splashed against his cheek. The baby nasturtiums in the box outside danced and courtesied on their slender stalks as though from very happiness. "What's the matter with the day?" grunted Hunter, as his pen went creaking slowly, laboriously, on again over the paper. "Bainy, of course." 84 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS "What of it? Can't expect the sun to shine all the time, can you ? ' ' "X-no, I suppose not," answered Miles. Bistre, having turned around eight times on Miles 's stomach, finally prepared for more slumber. "I suppose, by the way," said Hunter, presently, "you'll be leaving me in a day or two ?" ' ' Leaving you ! ' ' echoed Miles, ques- tioningly. "Yes, going back." "Back? Back where?" "Back to the city ; going away from here. ' ' ' ' Away from here \ ' ' murmured Miles, dreamily. ' ' Do you mean away from Maple Green?" ' ' Of course ! What do you suppose I've been talking about for five min- utes?" ,1 s ORCHARD PRINCES "And so you are sending m away!" mused Miles, dolefully^ Hunter stared and laid down his pen again. "Sending you away? Of course I 'm not ! If you care to stay ' ' "Oh, it's all right," Miles assured him, sorrowfully. "If there's some- body else coming I can go, I suppose. But " ' ' Who said anything about anybody coming!" asked his host, exasper- atedly. ' ' Then you 're merely tired of me ? ' ' said Miles. " I'm sure, if I'd known y i h that earlier— \ ' ' Oh, go to the dickens ! ' ' growled ljunter. ' ' Stay if you want to ! " "Not where I am not wanted," re- plied Miles, stiffly. "Look here!" bellowed Hunter. "When I asked you out here you 86 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS hemmed and hawed around unj^ thought you'd choke yourself! And then you said you'd try it for a week. "Well, you've been here ten days. If you can stand it longer, I'm glad to have you, as you plaguey well know; wish you'd stay all summer. But I didn't suppose you found it very ex- citing here after Arizona and New Mexico and those places. If you want to stay, why — why " s > "I accept your apology," answered Miles, with dignity, "and I will stay a " little longer. As for excitement, who^ cares for it when they have you, old ' man? You are a never-failing sourc of amusement." The other grunted and went back to his writing. Miles winked gravely ai Bistre, who had opened one eye during the discussion. "And as for Maple Green," went 87 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS / I on Miles, presently, "it really isn't half bad ; a bit too pastoral, perhaps ; a trifle too idyllic ; but still rather in- teresting. Fact is, I'd like to see the place when the flowers are out. Do you recollect that little picture you sent me two years ago, the one of the ouse and garden, with the purple clematis and crimson scrambler and a lot of other truck? Well, that reached me down at Peterson's Ranch, when there wasn't a blamed thing blooming except alkali and the only vegetation in sight was canned tomatoes. I made up my mind then that some day I'd see Maple Green when it looked like that picture — if it ever did ! Most of the boys down there said it was a beau- tiful lie; they'd never seen anything like it — except 'Slim' Cooper; 'Slim' told me it reminded him of a picture he saw once that came with a Christ- 88 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS mas magazine, the Loudon 'Graphite,' he thought it was!" Hunter sealed his letter and applied a stamp to the envelope with a thump that made the dishes rattle in the next room. " Besides," continued Miles, "I haven't found a wife yet. You know you said " "If that's all that's keeping you," growled his friend, "you might as well get out. The Green doesn't offer much choice in that line." "Oh, I don't know," Miles drawled. "There are the Ruggleses!" "You might do worse," chuckled Hunter, as he lighted his pipe. "Which one has caught your fancy?" "Well, I'm undecided. The fact is, I haven't yet reached the point where I can tell one from the other !" "If you like," Hunter suggested, jA^. S9 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS J^ "we'll drop in this afternoon and you can look 'em over." ' ' Heaven forbid ! ' ' cried Miles. After luncheon Hunter fixed himself comfortably in two chairs with a vol- _ ume of Victor Hugo. (Hugo and Dumas were the only novelists he ever read, if we except Miles.) His guest, after repeated attempts to interest himself in a magazine, donned a rain- coat and, with the devoted Bistre at heel, went out for a walk. It still rained, but more gently, and in the east patches of blue sky appeared now and then behind the gray clouds. Miles turned toward the settlement. The road was empty save for a farmer's wagon just turning into a distant lane. It occurred to him that possibly at the Maple Tree Inn they sold cigars. Not that he smoked cigars very often, but there was no 90 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS harm in having a few on hand. But when in front of the little stone cot- tage occupied by the Misses Ruggles he suddenly changed his mind. Glancing up he caught sight of a face at one of the windows. He doffed his cap. The next instant he realized that he had bowed to neither Miss Ve ridian nor Miss Anamife; that, in short, the face at the window had been that of the Princess. But already he was past the gate. To return now would look awkward at the least. No, he would continue his walk, return, and call on the Misses Ruggles. He had taken tea with them and it was his duty to call. So on he went, with Bistre trotting along behind, as far as the little green-shingled studio where lived the uninteresting Jenkins. There he turned and retraced his steps, striving heroically not to run. 91 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS At the white-painted door with its shining brass eagle knocker he made Bistre understand that he was to re- main outside, and then demanded ad- mittance. It was Miss Veridian that answered his knock; or it may have been Miss Anamite; Miles refused to commit himself. He addressed her as "Miss Buggies" in quite his most win- ning manner, said he'd dropped in to beg a cup of the nectar which they dispensed under the name of tea, and in a moment found himself, divested of rain-coat and cap, in the little old- fashioned parlor. The Misses Bug- gies were manifestly pleased and flat- tered. Miss Anamite — or it may have been Miss Veridian — fluttered fever- ishly to the tea-table, in spite of the fact that it was but three o'clock, and fluttered quite as feverishly out of the room bearing the gleaming kettle. &m Miles glanced at tlie windows and tHe about the room. His heart sank. He was alone with Miss Veridian — or it may have been Miss Anamite. She sat opposite him, very straight, on the edge of a fiddle-back mahogany chair, her slim white hands crossed in her lap, and beamed coyly. "Oh, Mr. Fallon," she said, "I do wish you might have come a moment earlier, just a wee moment earlier! We've had a call from such a dear girl! I'm certain you would have been charmed ! ' ' ' ' Indeed \ ' ' answered Miles, striving to keep the disappointment he felt out of his voice. "I'm sorry I. didn't, Miss Ruggles. The — ah — the young lad}T has gone ? ' ' "Scarcely two minutes ago, Mr. Fallon. Xot more than two minutes, I think, my dear?': 93 This to Miss- L>1 tN ORCHARD PRIN well, to the other Miss Buggies, wh had wafted in with the kettle. ' ' Oh, surely not so long ago as that, dear," was the reply. " Perhaps a minute, Mr. Fallon. One is so liable to err, I think, in the matter of esti- mating time, Mr. Fallon. Very often one says a minute, meaning in reality a much shorter period. ' ' "My dear!" murmured the other Miss Buggies. "Oh, quite unconsciously, so to speak, with no intention of deceiv- ing! It is only that sixty seconds is so much more protracted a space of time than we realize, my dear." She lighted the alcohol lamp and seated herself beside the table, looking across at Miles with an expression of arch excitement. "There is such an in- teresting experiment one may try, Mr. Fallon." 94 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS ' ' Indeed I ' ' murmured Miles, sraqji interestedly. "Really ! You take a watch — "Your own watch," interpolated the other Miss Ruggles. "Of course, your own watch, my dear ! You take a watch, and you ask some one else to count the seconds up to sixty." "The other person doesn't see the watch," explained her sister. "No — that is, not the face of the watch, my dear. Of course, there is no harm if the other person sees the bach of the watch! Then you begin ^ when the second-hand is at sixty ana i the other person counts one, two, three, and so on until he " - p, 4$ "Or she," suggested the other Miss Ruggles. &&j "Or she, of course, my dear. Until he or she reaches sixty. You'd really 95 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS be surprised, Mr. Fallon, to find how seldom the person who is counting estimates correctly the duration of a minute ! They usually get through long before the second-hand has com- pleted its circuit. It is really a most nteresting experiment ! ' ' ' ' Most interesting ! ' ' murmured the other Miss Ruggles. "It must be," said Miles, politely. "I shall have to try it some time." The lady at the tea-table fingered the watch on the bosom of her brown silk waist tremulously. The other Miss Ruggles frowned. The fingers fell away and the face bent over the kettle to hide the blush that crept over it. "But vou haven't told me yet," said Miles, "the identity of the charming voung ladv. " "Whv, so I haven't!" 96 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS "How odd!" The Misses Buggies looked at each other bewilderedly. The one at the tea-table shook her head smilingly. "I fear you are growing forgetful, Anamite dear, ' ' she sighed. Miles ex- amined the other Miss Ruggles in the hope of discovering some feature whereby he could thereafter identify her as Miss Anamite. But it was no use; five minutes afterwards he was as much at sea as ever. Meanwhile, Miss Anamite was explaining. "It was Miss Lynde," she said. ' ' Such a sweet girl ! So — so interest- ing! She's an artist, a landscape ar- tist, with a great deal of talent. Shouldn 't you say she had a great deal of talent, dear ? ' ' "Oh, undoubtedly, my dear! A most talented girl, Mr. Fallon ! Quite remarkable, I call her ! ' ' 97 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS °*Mfe4 "Miss Lynde," repeated Miles, as though searching his memory. "Yes, quite a beautiful girl, with wonderful golden hair. Do say you have met her, Mr. Fallon ! ' ' Miss Anamite — or was it Miss Anamite? — clasped her hands ecstati- cally and viewed Miles in strained sus- pense. "Well, of course, I may have met a Miss Lynde ; in fact, I am almost cer- tain that I have; a Miss — ah — Mary I^inde, I think." He waited craftily. > "No, you haven't met her then. But you must, positively you must! She is staying at the Inn. If you do meet her" — Miss Anamite Ruggles positively giggled! — "if you do, I'm almost sure we shall have a romance at Maple Green!" She beamed ex- citedly at her sister. 98 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS "Yes, indeed, a romance!" echoed the other Miss Ruggles. "You have certainly aroused my curiosity," replied Miles, gravely. "I shan't rest until I have seen this charming young person. I shall haunt the Inn, I think, until my eyes are re- warded with sight of her." The Misses Ruggles found that ex- cruciatingly humorous, and viewed each other delightedly. "So clever," sighed one Miss Rug- gles, admiringly. "Such refreshing humor," sighed the other. And at that moment the tea-kettle boiled over and, with subdued excla- mations of dismay, both Miss Ruggles flew to the rescue of the embroidered table-cloth. When, half an hour later, Miles reached the studio, his host aw( 99 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS with a mighty yawn and glanced at the clock. "Where the dickens have you been all the afternoon!" he asked. "You won't laugh if I tell you?" said Miles. ' ' Laugh ? Why should I laugh ? ' ' "Why shouldn't you? I've been taking tea with the Euggleses. ' ' 2; VI This morning the world was ablaze with sunshine. When he had left the studio, Miles had attributed the fact to the un- dimmed presence of the sun ; but now, as he stood beneath the last tree at the summit of the little slope, holding- back the branches in each hand lest they give warning of his approach, he pitied himself for his stupidity. The world was ablaze with sunshine be- cause the Princess wore no bonnet. She had placed her easel nearer the tinkling brook and was facing ob- liquely the opposite rise of lush, dew- gemmed grass, and the rim of low- 101 *7^ N ORCHARD PRINCES spreading apple-trees. Her back wa toward him, and, with a warning' gesture to Bistre, Miles stood there a mpment to view — the scenery. Over- head fluffs and ribbons of creamy- white clouds sailed about on a sea of blue, wafted by a prankish breeze from the south. Under the trees the ground was splashed with pink as a result of yesterday's rain, and now and then a breeze, swaying the branches lazily, sent little showers of petals floating through the air. The world was fresh and clean and damp, and sweet with the odor of blossoms and of drenched foliage. The sunlight was flashed back from millions of gems in rays of all colors. Chrysoprases and tourma- lines gleamed from the swaying grass- blades, pink pearls and opals shim- mered from the trembling blossoms, , emeralds and topazes were strung ' I 102 \ V AN ORCHARD PRINCESS along the young branches, diainAnJjg — faintly blue or crystal-white — scin- tillated from fairy webs. The morn- ing was aglitter and agleam, musical with the songs of birds and bees and heady with the fragrance of spring. " The gold of the April sunshine, The sweet of the April breeze, The bluebird's note in yonder wood, The droning of the bees," quoted Miles under his breath. ' ' And there is the Princess," he went on. with a throb at his heart, "the Or- chard Princess, with cheeks like the apple-tree blooms, eyes like the blue sky, and hair that is golden sunlight.^8- ( And I — heigho ! I might as well hav^_ fallen in love with nature herself; she would have proved kinder, I fear, than the Princess!" 103 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS Then lie snapped his fingers to Bis- tre and went on down the slope. As before, she was all in white, — white as fresh and clean as the April morning itself. The sleeves of her waist were pushed back to her elbows and the slim, rounded arms gleamed ike new ivory. A white linen stock was about her neck and the ends were thrown over one shoulder. The white skirt had been turned up across her knees, away from the wet grass, and from beneath the lace of the under- skirt two slender, tan-clad ankles moved restlessly. She was painting busily in an effort to catch the tender tints of early morning, and her brush flew eagerly from palette to canvas and from canvas to palette. The blue- checked painting apron had fallen un- noticed from her lap, her cheeks were flushed a deeper pink by the little tur- 104 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS moil of excitement, and her hair, rising in a wave of gold from her forehead and clustering low upon her neck in thick strands, outshone the sunlight. Miles reached her side unheard and unseen, and paused there with a sudden little gasp for breath. Her beauty assailed him with almost a physical shock, and for a moment, as his eyes dwelt on the oval cheek with its creamy flush, on the scarcely parted lips, on the little ear shad- owed in golden twilight, his heart performed strange antics. And when he spoke his voice fluttered absurdly. "You are early this morning," he said. She turned with a swift glance — that and no more — and bent again to her canvas. 105 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS **«£* "Oh, please!" she whispered, tensely. "Just a moment!" Miles drew back. Even Bistre, sniffing for attention, understood, and sat down to wait patiently for caresses. For a long minute the brush flew here and there in short, telling strokes of fresh, vivid green. Then the girl paused, sighed, leaned back, d, with a tiny start of recollection, turned to Miles. Her eyes, wide with fervor, looked into his for an instant questioningly. Then, — .j " Oh ! " she said. Down fluttered the white sleeves, a slim hand sought her hair, and in some mysterious way the white skirt dropped decorously to the ground. "I — I didn't hear you come," she said. "No, you were very intent on your canvas." In spite of his efforts, his tone held a suggestion of grievance. 106 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS a I hope I haven't done any dam- age?" The golden head shook slowly. ' 'No, I am through for to-day ; there is no more I can do. If I could have had just another half-hour, another ten minutes ! ' ' she said, wistfully. "I sincerely wish I were — what's- his-name, the Bible chap, you know, so I might command the sun to stand still for vou. " She smiled. "That might be dangerous," she said, lightly. "You might forget the formula for starting it on again. ' ' "Would it matter?" he asked, softly. "To have it always like this, fresh, green and golden, and pink and blue, with a little south wind stirring the leaves, and the birds singing their hearts out,- — would that be so bad?" "I wonder," she said, dreamily, 107 r N ORCHARD PKlN€ESS^ looking down the glade, where th sunlight flashed dazzlingly on the rip^ es of the brook. "I wonder! It is beautiful, isn't it ? The world seems a rious place, doesn't it? All sweet- ness and softness and goodness, with never a pain nor a trouble. And yet, wouldn't we tire very soon ? Wouldn't we sigh for gray days and — and — the rain ? Yesterday, too, was beautiful. ' ' "I didn't fancy it," said Miles, de- cisively. ''It was forty-eight hours long and — and the tea was bitter." The girl bent farther over Bistre, who was having his head rubbed, and Miles could not see her face. \ "That was rather a shabby trick you played me," he continued, ag- grievedly. "I?" she asked, without looking up. "You," answered Miles, sternly. "You decoyed me into the Ruggles' 10S AN ORCHARD PRINCESS f*\ studio, and then meanly, heartlessWJ left me to the mercies of Miss Anamite and Miss Veridian. And I drank three cups of tea that I didn't want. I think I was hypnotized." "They are very charming,'' said the girl. "But — but it was unkind, now, wasn't it?" "To make you drink tea you didn't want?" she asked, innocently, looking up at him. "To run away as you did." "I don't think so. Pray, Mr. Fal- lon, how was I to know that you wei going to call ? When I saw you, youg were passing by." Miles 's courage was not equal to thev_ situation. Somehow the words whien^^ came to him did not seem just the ones to say to this girl. s > "Well," he said, weakly, 109 sup- AN ORCHARD PRINCESS yjL pose you couldn't know; but I wish you had; perhaps you'd have stayed — out of compassion. Would you, do you think \ ' ' "No," she answered, shaking her head lightly, "I don't think I would." ' ' Then you are not compassionate ? ' ' Again came that little cruel shrug of the slim shoulders. "I really don't know," she an- swered, as though the subject failed to interest her. She reached out with the toe of one tan shoe and closed the lid of the battered paint-box. "You — you're not going so early?" asked Miles, anxiously. "Yes, I am through for to-day." "But — but what's the use! You won't find a pleasanter spot than this, Miss Lynde. And — the fact is got something awfully impor- say — or do." 110 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS The eyebrows arched themselves in polite surprise. ' ' Really ? ' ' she asked. ' ' Something important? I'm sure I can't imagine what it is." "Then stay just a little while and learn, won't you ! Since I've had such extraordinary good luck as to — er — stumble on you this morning " She laughed maliciously. "You are a poor fibber, Mr. Fal- lon," she said. "No one ever called me that be- fore," he replied. "In fact, I've always flattered myself that I was — well, rather good at lying." "Then you aren't sustaining your reputation this morning," she an- swered, gravely. "You see, I hap- pened to notice you on your porch when Miss Veridian asked where I was going and I told her." AN ORCHARD PRINCESS "Oh," said Miles, lamely. "Was — er — was that Miss Veridian?" "Yes," the girl answered, soberly. But a little smile flickered at the cor- ners of her mouth, and Miles took heart. "Well, I confess," he said, "and throw myself on the mercy of the court. I followed you. ' ' The court acquits you on your promise never to do it again. ' ' "I won't promise. I prefer to be held in custody — by the court." "Then you'll have to go to — to prison ! ' ' "Is it as bad as that? And where is the prison!" "The Ruggleses," she answered, laughingly. He shuddered. ' ' I throw myself on the mercy of the court ! ' ' 112 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS "You've already done that once," she remonstrated. ' ' The mercy of the court is worn out. To prison you go, Mr. Fallon! And you are sentenced to a week of tea and cakes !" "It would be far more merciful to sentence me to swift death," he an- swered. "Please have me drawn and quartered, Miss Lynde. I ask it as the last favor!" She shook her head unrelentingly. "You have heard the court's de- cision," she said. "But meanwhile punishment is — what do you say? — delayed f ' ' "Revoked!" "No, delayed. And so you can tell me of the important matters you spoke of." "Thank you." Miles seated him- self cross-legged on the ground and"4 produced a slip of paper from his 8 113 pocket. "You know I told you I w going to learn your first name I" "You said so," she answered, calmly. "Yes ; well, here I have a list, care- fully copied from the back of Mr. Brough's dictionary, of all feminine names beginning with P. ' ' 1 ' Really ? You must have been dull indeed yesterday ! ' ' "I shall read them off," continued Miles, unheeding of her sarcasm, "and you will kindly answer when your name is reached.'' There was no re- ply, and he looked up. "You will, won't you?" "No, I think not," she said, smiling mockingly. "But that isn't fair!" "Isn't it?" "Think — think of the labor I've been through ! ' ' 114 \ > AN ORCHARD PRINCESS Jet ' ' Not at my suggestion. ' ' ^^t _5$ He observed her a moment, search- / ing the blue eyes — a not unpleasant* process — for signs of relenting. He found none and turned to the paper. "Before I begin," he announced^\" briskly, "I should like to say that there is one name which I have been — that is, which I have mentally ap- plied to you since I had the pleas- ure of meeting you a week or two ago ' ' "Four days," corrected the gi dryly. "Which, while it may not be title with which you were christen suits you admirably. ' ' "And that is?" she asked, wiSr elaborate indifference. "That you must guess for vour- self," he answered, maliciously. "Unless, that is to say, unless you 115 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS will exchange your name for mine — I mean !" "It sounds like a proposal of mar- riage," she said, composedly. In spite of her self-possessed gravity, she enjoyed his confusion. "I — I have no desire to retract it," he stammered, wishing his cheeks were not so red. But she shook her head. "It would be cruel to hold you to it," she answered, kindly. "Pray continue; you were saying?" "I meant to say that I would tell you the name I have given you if you would tell me your real one." "I haven't sufficient curiosity," she replied, coldly. ' ' Very well, then. ' ' Miles went back to the paper. "Patience?" He looked up. Her eyes met his un- flinchingly. 116 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS "Not Patience, then. Patty?" No reply. "Paula?" "Pauline?" ' ' Penelope ? ' ' ' ' Persis ? ' ' He asked it hesitatingly. Then — "Thank Heaven!" he muttered. "Not Persis!" A smile crept across her face. "Phillipa? No? Thank heaven again ! ' ' "Phoebe?" "Phyllis?" He watched her anx- iously. "Polly? It's not so bad, Polly. No? Very well." "Priscilla?" She still looked back at him mock- ingly. He took a deep breath, and,— ' ' Prudence ! " he whispered, ten- derly. 117 C AN ORCHARD PRINCESS The blue eyes flickered once and the pink deepened by just a shade in the cheeks. "Prudence!" he said again, his voice dwelling softly, lovingly, on the word. She arose quickly to her feet. "I am going now, if you are quite through your important matters!" "Prudence!" he begged. She fried on him accusingly. ' ' You asked some one ! ' ' she cried. "I didn't!" he answered, triumph- antly. ' ' I guessed it ! I knew it was your name at once; something told me ! Pru— j } "I forbid you to say it again!" she flashed. ' ' It is my name, and you have no right to call me by it ! " "I won't," he answered, cheerfully, "now that I have found out. But — may I say that I like it, that it suits you as no other name ?" 118 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS ( ( Xo, you may not," she answered, severely. "Very well. But you will let me help you back with this stuff?" he asked, penitently. "I don't need any assistance, thank you, Mr. Fallon." "But it's too much for you, Miss Lvnde ! Please let me— i •> "Please star where you are," she replied, with dignity. "Oh!" said Miles. She folded the easel, took it under her arm, lifted the paint-box and can- vas, and, without further notice of him, walked down the glade toward the road. Miles stood and watched her until she was out of sight among the trees at the end of the glade. Then, with Bistre trotting sleepily along at heel, he strode home, whistling blithely. 119 VII The next morning his world was nipped with frost. The Princess was very, very busy, quite too busy to look away from the canvas when he said ' ' Good-morning. ' ' She answered in a cold, absent-minded way and went on with her work. Even Bistre seemed to feel the chill in the atmosphere and held doubtfully aloof. Miles sat down on a spot of rather wet grass at a respectful distance and filled his pipe. "May I smoke?" he asked. "Pray do just as you like." ' ' It will not annoy you ? ' ' "Not in the least." (Strange, by the way, isn't it, how some words spell one thing and apparently mean quite another ? For example, in the present case what the words really conveyed was, "Pray, sir, do you think for a moment that anything you could do 120 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS f*\ would have the power of affecting 1 in the least little bit?") 4 "A beautiful morning?" observed Miles, most ingratiatingly. There was no reply. "I was afraid last evening we were going to have rain." Silence. "Er — weren't you?" "No." "But perhaps you didn't notice the clouds?" No answer. "Did you?" "No." "It looked — er — quite threatening But the sunset was certainly wano. More silence. "You noticed the sunset, course ? " v^ "No— yes!" \m* *4 "Then perhaps > 1 a ;Mr. Fallon, I am very busy, and C_ talking disturbs me. ' ' 121 J ufi AN ORCHARD PRINCESS * i "I beg your jDardon, Miss Lynde." Miles frowned over his pipe, glancing furtively from time to time at the provoked Princess. There was a good deal of color in her cheeks this morning, and the little droop of the lips was emphasized; but at the same me the straight nose looked ex- tremely haughty and a tiny crease which was stationed above it, like a signal indicating stormy weather, made Miles uneasy. He wished she wasn't angry with him. Then he won- dered why she was angry. Finally he decided that she had no reason for being angry ; as he was inexperienced in such matters, he did not understand that a woman has the privilege of being angry without reason. Eeally, he told himself, he had done nothing out of the way; it was quite absurd; i^e would put an end to it ! 122 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS "If I have done anything to dis- please you, Miss Lynde," he an- nounced, with dignity, "I am very sorry. I assure you I had no intention of — of doing it." "You haven't, Mr. Fallon." The tone was frightfully polite. Miles 's frown deepened. ' ' I gathered from your manner that I had." "Not at all." "Oh!" The birds trilled and fluttered amidst the trees. The tireless bees sang their sleepy tune. Bistre, hunt- ing squirrels down near the road, barked impatiently. But in spite of these sounds, the silence seemed op- pressive. Miles 's frown grew into a scowl. He arose. "I fear my presence annoys you, Miss Lynde," he said, coldly. There 123 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS was a slight uplifting of her eyebrows which might have meant most any- thing disagreeable. "I am sorry. Good-morning. ' ' ' ' Good-morning, ' : said Prudence, pleasantly, without looking around at him. He had taken a dozen steps up the slope when she called to him. ''Mr. Fallon." ^'Miss Lynde?" ' ' There is something I want to say. Would you mind waiting just a moment ? ' ' "Not at all," he murmured. She laid down her brush and turned toward him. Her face held no proim ise of pardon. "I want to ask you if you won't please stop — coming here." " Certainly, ' ; he answered, coldly. "I regret that my presence is so ob- noxious ? j 121 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS The color deepened in her face. "That," she replied, calmly, "has nothing to do with it. If you wish to waste your time that is your own af- fair, but my time is valuable, for my painting means bread and butter. Besides, it looks — it looks very fool- ish." It was his turn to redden. The flames leaped into his cheeks. "I quite understand, Miss Lynde," he answered, in a low voice that was not quite steady. "I beg you to rest assured that you will not be troubled any further in- — that way." He bowed. To a third person, had there been one present, — of course, Bistre isn't counted, — that bow would have looked highly absurd, but neither he nor she was in a mood to appreciate humor. She returned the bow with a dignified bend of her head. 125 N ORCHARD 'Please don't misunderstand me, she said. ' ' I lay no claim to this spo of course, and were you a painter — if you came here to work — I would have no objection to offer. But as it is, as this particular locality means no more to you than any other ' ' "No more," echoed Miles, politely. "And as there are so many other places quite as attractive- > > ' ' Fully as attractive, ' ' agreed Miles. "I think I am — justified in asking you to — to cease coming, at least while I am here. ' ' "You are quite within your rights, Miss Lynde. Believe me, I shall re- spect them carefully. Good-morning, l\(tiss Lynde." "Good-morning, Mr. Fallon." Of course, it was all absolutely ridiculous, but to Miles, pushing his way through the apple-blooms to- 126 I AN ORCHARD PRINCESS ward the lane, puffing savageJ^**t ;m empt} pipe, and with his cneeks *V%j afire, it didn't seem so. ' It was very ^ tragic. That evening he announced his in- tention of going back to the city, f ^ Hunter Brough took his pipe from his mouth, examined it attentively for a moment, and said, — "Suit yourself, Miles. I'd ask you to stay, but I don't believe I could stand you many days in your present condition. I don't know what in thu der is the matter with you, and v won't tell me, but " ' ' Why should there be anything matter with me?" demanded Miles, 4 crossly. ^ "Give it up, my boy. But theref's. When a man walks around the shop all day like a caged bear and growls like^ one there must be something wrong. 127 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS / And it must be either one of two things; either he's in love " " Don't be a fool!" snapped Miles. "Well, I don't suppose it's that, for you haven't been near the Ruggleses' place for two days, so far as I'm aware, and unless you've been doing the Narcissus act and falling in love with your own reflection " "Oh, cut it out!" said Miles, wearily. "Very well, it isn't that, then. So it must be your liver. If you'll just do as I told you and take a few of those pills, you'll be all right. I dare say it's living so much down there in the Southwest. That's a bad place for livers, I've heard. I used to know a chap who was in the cavalry down at Fort " But his auditor had flown. Presently Hunter followed him out 128 / AN ORCHARD ou to the porch with his guitar. W)\4^\ looked desperately from his host to the instrument. Then, — ' ' Hunter, ' ' he announced, sombrely, ' ' if you play that damned thing I '11 — I '11 strangle you ! ' ' The next morning at breakfast Hunter looked across from the letter he was reading and asked, — "By the way, what train are you thinking of taking?" "None," answered Miles, cheer- fully. " Oh ! I understood you to say yes- terday— ?> "Of course you did, but don't let it bother you. I don't. I've changed my mind. ' ' "Oh, you've changed your mind?" "Exactly; one can do that, I sup- pose?" "Some folks can — quite often, '; 9 129 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS answered the artist, with a basso chuckle. ''You be hanged!" muttered Miles. "Pass the omelet." "Maybe if you were kind of careful about what you ate for a day or two your liver " "There's nothing the matter with my liver," answered Miles, impa- tiently. Hunter shook his head. "I'm not so sure. You didn't eat any luncheon to speak of yesterday, and not much supper, and I've no- ticed " "You notice a whole lot that you can't see." "All right, my boy. Anyhow, I'm glad you've found your appetite again." "I haven't," said Miles. "Oh, haven't you?" "No, I haven't. And let me advise 130 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS you, Hunter, not to try sarcasm; it doesn't suit you; when you attempt it you remind me of an elephant trying to waltz. Is there any more coffee there ! ' ' After all, reflected Miles, as he set forth aimlessly along the road after breakfast, after all, there was no good reason why the vagaries of a girl he had never seen until a few days ago should cut short his visit to Hunter Brough. He had told Hunter he would stay, and it wouldn't be fair to disappoint him. Besides, Maple Green was far pleasanter than the city. As for Miss Lynde — well, she had been nothing to him a week ago, so why should he allow her to trouble him now ? It was bally nonsense, that's what it was! Any fellow that would let a yellow-haired girl with pink cheeks and blue eyes 131 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS make him miserable must be plumb locoed ! By which time he had reached the lane. Bistre turned in unhesitatingly. Miles paused. Of course, he had no idea of trespassing on that forbidden territory; still, merely to walk through the orchard and have a look round was not prohibited. Perhaps, after all, she was not there this morning. But she was. When he reached the edge of the trees he saw her at her easel, her golden hair agleam in the morning sunlight. Half screened by the blossom-laden branches, he stood and looked down at her. And as he looked she laid aside her brush and, taking her chin into the curled palm of one white hand, sat looking past her canvas for all the world as though the 132 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS light was riot growing every instant and the precious moments wasting away. Plainly, work did not go very well this morning! And as Miles watched he wondered why he had ever entertained the idea of tearing himself away from — Hunter ! Presently, with a start, Prudence turned again to the canvas, picked the brush from the ledge of the easel, and set to work. But there was none of the enthusiasm she had shown when the picture was started. The brush moved slower and slower until once more she was idle, her gaze on the blue rim of the distant hills seen at the end of the glade. Suddenly Miles turned his observation from the Princess to Bistre. The latter was half-way down the slope, trotting toward Prudence with his stump of a tail wagging ex- citedly. 133 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS ''Bistre!" whispered Miles, hoarsely. "Bistre, come back here, you fool dog!" But the fool dog didn't hear, or, hearing, paid no heed. Miles crept back out of sight among the trees and watched through a crevice in the foliage. Bistre trotted straight to Prudence and pawed at her dress. Prudence turned sharply to him and then swept the slope swiftly with her gaze. Probably she was relieved to find no one in sight. She raised the delighted Bistre on to the lap of her white skirt and kissed the beauty spot. For several minutes Bistre listened attentively to her remarks and luxu- riated in her caresses. Then he jumped to the ground and came duti- fully back up the slope, Prudence watching him. Miles had flown. 134 VIII The next morning when the Prin- cess crept through the breach in the wall where the brook goes gurgling under the road and, with easel, paint- box, and canvas, began the ascent of the glade she met with a shock. There, not a dozen feet from her chosen spot, was an easel, and in front of the easel was a man. He wore a brown velvet jacket, a dark blue beret sat rakishly over one ear, and a cloud of smoke hung about his head. Prudence's heart sank. She had hoped to finish 135 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS her canvas this morning while the bright weather continued, but now she was tempted to turn back. She did not feel like talking "shop" with the unknown painter. She wondered at the chance which had led him to this particular spot. Perhaps, though, he lad painted here before. His back was toward her and she could not catch even a glimpse of his face. She was certain it was not Mr. Taft, nor Mr. Link, nor yet Mr. Simpkins. But one or two new-comers had been rumored of at the Inn, and perhaps the usurper was one of these. She set down her paint-box to rest her arm and untied the strings of her sun- bonnet to allow the little breeze to reach her flushed cheeks. But what an uninteresting view he had selected ! He had placed his easel where only a shadowed group of 136 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS apple-trees confronted him, without contrast of light and shade. Per- haps, she thought ruefully, he was Parrel, the man who painted masses of unrelieved green foliage and called his productions "schemes." He was an odious little man with a yellow Vandyke beard, who talked steadily about himself and his work as long as there was any one to listen. Prudence turned irresolutely toward the road again. But the next glance told her that the man in front of her was far too broad-shouldered for Farrel. In fact, there was something dimly famil- iar about that back, in spite of the brown velvet. And while she strug- gled with memory the man leaned back in front of his untouched canvas, waved a mahl-stick gayly back and forth, and sang in time to it in a fairly good tenor, — AN ORCHARD PRINCESS " The Bachelor ! The Bachelor ! Te ti de dum te de ! Whose cares are few, whose friends are true, Whose peace holds — tra-la-le !" A flood of warm color rushed into the Princess 's face and a smile chased away the expression of doubt. She stood for a moment watching the mahl- iick wave and the blue smoke go writhing up in the sunlight. And as she looked, as though to dispel any lingering doubt as to the identity of the person at the easel, Bistre trotted into sight with lolling tongue and cast himself down at the man's feet. Pru- dence took up her paint-box and went on. " God bless the jolly Bachelor, Who's ever blithe and gay; Who, when he won't, my lad, he don't, And when he would, he " 138 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS The song broke off abruptly and Miles, upsetting his canvas stool, bowed politely. ''Good-morning," he said. "What a charming day for our work ! ' ' Prudence, conquering her desire to laugh, returned his salutation with a little bend of her head. "Allow me!" cried Miles. She silently yielded the easel, and he set it in place with much care, placed the canvas upon it, and opened her stool. "I feared you were not coining," he said. "And I was sorry, for the light is — is perfect. I have set the easel right?" "Mr. Fallon, you promised not to do this !" she said, coldly. "To do V "To come here." "Miss Lynde, that promise — if it 139 \ ORCHARD J wa^ a promise, which I am not pre , parea to grant you — was made during a moment of mental aberration, and would not hold in law." "Indeed? And will you please tell me what you are doing with those things and that ridiculous garb?" Ridiculous!" cried Miles, in hurt tones. ' ' Why, I rather fancied myself in these garments ! To be sure, the cap was bought for a much larger head and the coat doesn't fit as well as it might across the chest; but ridiculous \ You have wounded me sorely, Miss Lynde!" ' ' They belong to Mr. B rough ? ' ' "They do; likewise the easel, the paint-box, the canvas, the stool, and — and the brushes. The mahl-stick is my own. I cut it from a willow tree on the way hither. Would you like to see it?" 140 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS "No, thank you, it looks rat sticky." "It is; mahl-sticky. Thank you for smiling at that." "I didn't smile," she denied. "To be truthful, you didn't; but I thought you were going to, so I thanked you in advance. ' ' "And what, pray, are you — going to do with them?" She indicated the easel and its ac- companying articles. "Paint," answered Miles, cheer- fully. "You know you said you wouldn't object, if I were a painter, t my coining here. ' ' "But you're not a painter; you'r just pretending!" s*. "Miss Lynde! Is that fair, is xi^^ generous? Because I am not a fin- ((\ ished artist like you, is it kind to C. throw my — my mediocrity in my face 141 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS I am an amateur ; I have never taken money for painting a picture." "Oh!" she sighed, with a little re- luctant laugh. "You are incorrigi- ble!" "I am!" he answered, gratefully. "Thank you for saying so." She seated herself and opened her box. "If you are going to paint," she said, "don't you think you had better be about it '? ' ' " Oh ! To be sure. Thank you for reminding me; for a moment I had completely forgotten that I was a painter. ' ' What are you going to do 1 " "Do? Why, paint." "I mean what are you going to paint I ' ' she explained, as she set fresh color on her palette. "Oh, I think," he replied, care- 142 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS lessly, "I shall do a landscape this morning. Just a little trifle, you know; something sympathetic and — and atmospheric. You see, I don't confine myself strictly to one branch of my art; sometimes I do marines, sometimes still life, sometimes flow- ers, quite frequently portraits; I'm rather good at portraits." He looked interestedly at the profile she pre- sented to his view. "But this morn- ing— well, a mere trifle of landscape, I think." - "I see," she answered, gravely. "But don't you think you could select a more interesting view than you have?" "No," he said, thoughtfully, watch- ing her face. "No, I rather like the view. I have seldom seen a lovelier one. j i "Indeed? Apple-trees and grass in 143 N ORCHARD PRINCES deep shadow. Hm! How are yo going to treat it ? " "I hope, Miss Lynde," he replied, with dignity, "you don't think me capable of treating even a — er — land- scape otherwise than courteously ! ' ' "Well, hadn't you better begin?" she asked, viewing her own subject with half -closed eyes. ' ' Perhaps I had. Uin-m-ni, let — me — see." He looked through the odds and ends contained in the discarded box. ' ' Do you happen to have a piece of charcoal that's not working? I seem to have omitted my charcoal this morning. I always prefer to — er — just sketch in a little before I stick on the paint." "Here is a piece," she answered. He looked rather disappointed, but arose and took it from her out- stretched hand and seated himself 144 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS again before his easel. He eye charcoal and the canvas. Then he half closed his eyes and squinted at the apple-trees. As this didn't seem to produce the desired inspiration, he curled his fingers together as he had seen folks do in a picture gallery and looked through. ' ' Ah, ' ' he murmured, ' ' I think I see a tree. ' ' Presently Prudence glanced toward him. "Mr. Fallon, are you doing a por- trait this morning \ ' ' "Oh, no," he answered, confusedly "A landscape." ' ' Then don 't you think it might help you if you looked at the landscape in- stead of me 1 ' ' ' ' I — I was thinking, ' ' he said, apolo? getically. She looked at the empty canvas and then at him. 10 145 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS "No, I haven't started yet," he ex- plained, airily. "I — I think I've lost my charcoal." "You have it in your hand," she said, dryly. "Why, so I have!" He looked at it in surprise. "Er- — does it always come off on the fingers ? ' ' "Generally," she replied, turning back to her work. "I think I'll just wash my hand," he announced. "I always like to have clean hands when I start to work." He arose, followed by the attentive Bistre, and by careful management reached the brook, rinsed his hands in the water, dried them on Bistre's back, and returned to his seat. Then he lighted his pipe, consuming a deal of valuable time in the process and hum- ming the song about the bachelor. That operation completed, he looked 146 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS thoughtfully at the canvas, stealing an occasional glance at the Princess. A quarter of an hour passed. "How are you getting on!" asked Prudence, politely, without looking across. "Oh, famously! I — I am almost ready to start." "But you haven't done a thing yet ! ' ' she cried, in simulated surprise, viewing the canvas. "No, not yet. You see, I have to wait for inspiration. Quite frequently it doesn't come for— hours !" "Mr. Fallon,'' she said, sternly, "you came here on pretence of paint- ing. If you don't paint, I must insist that you go away again." "I don't like the sound of that word 'pretence,' " he answered, shaking his head grievedly. "Then you must do something." 147 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS "Well," lie answered, ingenuously, ' ' what — what would you advise ? ' ' "I'd advise you to start. ' ' "Yes, I had thought of that," he agreed. "I suppose it might be best to start. Onlv — where would vou start?" "I didn't agree to give you instruc- tion, Mr. Fallon." "Oh, certainly not! I don't ask in- struction ; merely — er — advice, assist- ance." "Oh, well, why not sketch in your trees there ! ' ' "Would you?" he asked, interest- edly. She nodded. * ' How would you do it ? " She arose quickly and crossed the grass to him. ' ' Get up, please, and let me have the crayon. ' ' He obeyed. Seating herself on the 148 SHE AROSE QUICKLY AND CROSSED THE GRASS TO II 1 M AN ORCHARD PRINCESS stool, she sketched in rapidly the out- line of the apple-trees, indicated the trunks and the ground with a few short strokes, and arose. ' ' There, ' ' she said, handing back the charcoal, ''that's the way I'd do it." "Thank you," he answered, gravely. "Now I can go to work, can't I?" "I should think so," she answered, going back to her own canvas. "But, do you know, I think perhaps you had better stick to the other lines you af- fect? Landscape doesn't — I hope you won't mind my saying it, Mr. Fal- lon " "Please be perfectly candid," he begged. "Landscape doesn't appear to be your strong point." "I have sometimes thought that, too," he answered. "I think maybe 149 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS I'd better do a portrait this morning instead." He looked attentively at her. "Oh, no," she replied, "I think I'd go ahead with the landscape, if I were you, now that you've got it sketched in i ? "Well," he said, doubtfully. "Al- though my inspiration to-day seems to lean toward portraiture. Still, if you think best " "I do." "Then I'll take your advice." He seated himself again on his stool, re- lighted his pipe, winked gravely at Bistre, and pulled the paint-box to- ward him by the simple expedient of putting his heel in it. "I will now, ' ' he announced calmly, "set my palette." A moment passed. Then, "Haven't got any," he murmured, surprisedly. "Bistre, I haven't got any!" 150 AN ORCHARD PRINCES^ V "Haven't got any what f " ^fed*A ( Prudence. /\?^ "Haven't got any palette," lie an- swered, in the voice of one over- whelmed and dazed by a great calam- "Then I fear you won't be able to do much this morning," she said, struggling with a smile. "No, I fear not," he answered, dole- fully. ' ' And just when I was about to /|p do a veritable masterpiece, too ! How cruelly Fate toys with us ! Now7 jusft* because Hunter neglected to suppl me with a palette, the world loses a' great painting ! I was going to ca it ' ' — he sank his voice to a confidential ^ whisper — "I was going to call n*"^ 1 Apple-Trees!' " "A most original title!" she ex- claimed, evidently quite impressed. "Isn't it? And now — now it will 151 I /> AN ORCHARD PRINCESS never be ! And I suppose" — lie spoke sorrowfully- — ' ' I suppose I shall have % go, now that I can't paint." Prudence laid down her brush and vfaced him smilingly. ^Mr. Fallon!" "Miss Lynde?" "You are absolutely ridiculous!" He bowed. "You don't keep your promises and you won't be serious. And I don't suppose there is any use in my trying to — to keep you away — from here. ' ' "Honestly," he answered, cheer- fully, "I don't believe there is." "Therefore, as I am through my- self, I will leave you to undisputed possession of this spot you seem so fond of." She laid her palette and brushes in her box and arose. So did Miles. So did Bistre. 152 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS "Well, I'm through myself," said Miles. "And so, if you don't mind, I'll just walk back with you and carry your things." "But you've got your own things," Prudence demurred. "Those? Oh, I'll just leave those here — until to-morrow ! ' ' They took a walk that evening, Miles and Hunter and Bistre. There was a saffron glow in the west, while low in the sky hung a crescent moon, its earthward point entangled in the topmost branches of a maple-tree on the summit of the dark ridge. They paused for a moment to converse over the fence with the Misses Ruggles, who, wearing gauntleted gloves and armed with trowels, were transplant- ing a brood of window-grown helio- tropes from pots to beds. Later they indulged in conversation en passant with the Tafts regarding the weather. Still further along they saw the re- 154 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS nowned Merrill Link smoking a ciga^' on his porch, and were cheerecP by a condescending bow from the great one. The uninteresting Jenkins was training a wistaria vine on to a trellis; from the Beatties' cottage issued the soft strains of God- dard's Second Waltz. Miles didn't know it was that, but it seemed of a piece with the quiet beauty of the evening and made his heart beat a little faster; and he would have lingered within sound of the piano had not Hunter drawn him forcibh on. < ' It 's murder, ' ' he growled. ' ' Come on, for heaven^s sake!" "I'm glad I'm not musical," said Miles. "One's range of pleasure so much broader if one hasn't a culti- vated ear. Now I, in my ignorance, liked that." 155 \ > AN ORCHARD PRINCESS "That's not ignorance," replied Hunter, grimly. "It's depravity." When they reached the Maple Tree Inn they found the porch deserted, but up-stairs four windows were alight. "Must be some one staying here," said Hunter. "Er — yes," answered the other, ab- sently. ' ' I dare say. ' ' On the way back Miles talked of the Southwest. When he cared to he could talk well, could draw graphic, colorful pictures of places and scenes, and Hunter enjoyed listening. "Maybe this fall or winter I can manage to run down there for a month or two," said Hunter. "I suppose your invitation still holds good!" "Surely, only " 'Only what?" "Well, my plans aren't quite cer- ' ' It may be that 156 ain," he answered AN ORCHARD PRINCESS I'll be in the East a good deal this winter ; in New York. But I dare say we can arrange for a month or so down there together." "I'd like to try my hand at that country, ' ' mused Hunter. When they reached the studio Miles dropped on to a seat on the porch. "Get your guitar," he suggested; and when Hunter had obeyed and had tuned it to his liking, "Sing me that thing about the wind and tide," he said. "Wind and tide?" muttered Hunter. "Oh, yes!" His heavy fin- gers crept slowly over the strings, and he began, softly, — " The world is very wide, dear, The heavens very high, And save the winds and tide, dear, 'Tis I alone know why, 'Tis I alone know why. 157 The heav'ns so far above, That you might understand, dear, AN ORCHARD PRINCESS " The earth was made so grand, dear, How wide and deep my love, How wide and deep my love." N > When lie had finished there was silence for a moment. Then Miles tapped the ashes from his pipe. "To-morrow," he said, thought- fully, "is the first of May." "What about it?" asked the artist. ' ' Oh, I don 't know. It seems rather wonderful, that's all." "Wonderful!" grunted the other. ' ' Why wonderful ? Doesn 't it usually come at about this time of year ? ' ' ' ' I dare say ; but I never noticed it before." "By the way, how did you get on with your painting to-day?" asked Hunter. 158 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS "I didn't do very much," Miles answered, gravely. Then lie smiled happily in the twilight. "But to- morrow!" he said, dreamily. "To- morrow ! ' ' /J> ' It may have been imagination, but to Miles it seemed that Xature had put on festal attire in honor of May. Surely the birds had never sung so lustily, surely the sunlight was brighter, the leaves greener, the sky bluer than ever before. The world was in May Day mood and his heart was in tune. He reached the glade early. The shadows were still long across the grass and the dew drenched his ankles. The easel and stool stood where he had left them, and he sat down and filled his pipe and waited. Bistre trotted busily about through the long 160 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS grass, sneezing and coughing, in search of the adventure that never befell. The tobacco in the bowl burned down and gave place to new. The sun rose higher and higher. The shadows shortened and deepened. The song of the birds died away by degrees as noontime approached. But the Prin- cess did not come. At eleven o'clock Miles gave up hope and, carrying his easel and stool and box, returned dis- appointedly to the studio. Hunter had just returned from a, sketching ex- pedition and was studying the result of his labor when Miles entered. "Hello," he said. "Let's see the canvas." "I didn't work this morning," an- swered'Miles, dejectedly. "The light wasn 't good. ' ' Hunter chuckled. kToo bad," he said. And 161 x ll AN ORCHARD PRINCESS "By the way, there's a note there on the table for you. I found it when I came in." "For me?' asked Miles, wonder- ingly. "Well, it's addressed to you. But maybe it's meant for me; maybe the lady was too shy to write to me direct. ' ' Miles bore the note to the window and studied it with smiling eyes. The square white envelope with the green maple-tree in the corner told its own story. "Mr. Fallon,'' was the in- scription, and he viewed it delight- edly; he had never seen his name look just like that before! And how beautiful the tall, scrawly writing was ! Then he carefully slit the en- velope and drew forth the single sheet it contained. Presently Hunter, having leaned his 162 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS canvas against the wall, broke the silence. < < Well, ' ' he asked, ' < what is it ? An invitation to tea with the Ruggleses? Or has some fair unknown fallen cap- tive to my charms and begged you to intercede in her behalf?" "No," answered Miles, quietly. "It's just — just a note." He dropped it into his pocket and turned silently to the window. Hun- ter viewed him curiously. Presently Miles turned, took his cap from the table, and passed out. Hunter watched him leave the garden and turn westward along the road. Bis- tre, left on the wrong side of the door, whined dolefully. "No, you stay here, old chap," said his master. "I don't believe you're wanted this time." He thrust his big hands into his pockets and scowled 163 ORCHARD PRINCESS down at the noisy little stream, wonder what there was in it," he mut- tered, "to make Miles look like that." Meanwhile, seated on the top of a wall farther along the sunlit road, Miles was reading the note again. Jff- " I am leaving Maple Green this morning for home. My vacation is finished. I didn't tell you this yesterday when you left me at the Inn, why, I hardly know. But this morning it seems rude to go away without saying good-bye to one of the few acquaintances I have here. And I have something else to say which is awfully difficult. Please don't try to see me again. You see I am assuming that you would have cared to do so. I may be mistaken, and I hope I am, for friends are not so many that I can drive one away without regret. I have enjoyed your ac- quaintance and I shall watch for your books eagerly, and shall read them with a new interest, proud to think that mine was the honor of \ \ being present at the inception of the author's first painting. I shall always feel sorry for the world since it has missed that masterpiece ! But 164 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS this is nonsense and not at all what I started out to write. " I am a very busy young person and I don't get around the world much, and so I don't think we shall meet again. But please remember, if you care to do so, that I am wishing you all sorts of success— the kind that doesn't know discouragement ! — and all happiness. " Sincerely, " Prudence Lynde." Miles slowly put the note back in its envelope and dropped it in his pocket. Then he sat for a long while staring bewildered] y at the dusty road. It seemed such a queer sort of thing to have happened. It had never occurred to him that he might fail. He had fallen in love with the Princess sud- denlv and thoroughlv and with no thought as to results ; it had been enough to see her and listen to her voice; there had been no looking 165 tm s AN ORCHARD PRINCESS ahead, no weighing of possibilities nor probabilities. And now the irides- cent bubble, blown in the sunlight, had vanished. He strove to imagine what life was going to be without her. Of course, ultimately he would cease caring; luman nature was like that ; but even then, he fancied, he would always feel that he had been cheated out of some- thing rightfully his. And until the time to cease caring came he was going to care very much. Already things were changed, he thought, wonderingly ; the sunlight had faded ; the blue sky no longer looked its best; the vines and bushes along the road were dusty and bedraggled like a sloven's skirt; the breeze held a chill. If only she had left him a ray of hope, no matter how dim. Had she 166 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS forbidden him to seek her he might have disobeyed the command, accept- ing the consequences cheerfully. But a request was a different matter; there was no getting by that word "please!" Still, he thought, miser- ably, why quibble about that? The sum of it all was that to her he was merely "one of the few acquaint- ances!" Doubtless he had amused her — when he had not provoked her — and for that she had written him a civil note of farewell as she might have tossed a coin to a mountebank. What a fool he had been! What a silly- acting ass! As though a woman's heart could be won with jokes and grimaces ! Presently he began to consider what he should do. To stay on here at Maple Green, to be reminded every in- stant of her, was out of the question ; AN ORCHARD PRINCESS the fragrance of apple-blossoms even now brought an ache to his heart ; the sunlight on the trunk of the birch across the road reminded him of the gold of her hair. The first thing to do was to get away from the Green. After that ? He wondered what other men had done in like quandaries. In books they went to war or sea or st themselves in dim corners of the world. Sometimes they were killed, usually with the girl's name on their lips ; sometimes they came back after many years and found the girl unmar- ried or widowed and ready to fall into their arms. Miles smiled grimly. He hadn't any desire to be killed; neither Africa nor Thibet nor South America appealed to him. He supposed what a sensible man would do would be to "buck up" — to use the phrase occur- ring to him — and go ahead with his 168 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS work, whatever it might be, aud not make a fool of himself! At all events, nothing was to be gained by grumbling at Fate. When he got back to the studio Hunter was just sitting down to lunch- eon. Miles took his place at tjie table, trying to behave as though the very bottom of things hadn't suddenly fallen out. Hunter eyed him furtively, but asked no questions. He knew Miles pretty well. After the meal was done the two men lighted their pipes. Hunter dragged a pile of old canvases out of a cupboard and began sorting them over. Miles threw himself on the long window-seat and Bistre climbed to his lap. The nasturtiums in the box outside waved their green disks of leaves in the breeze. At last Miles sat up and scraped the tobacco from his bowl. 169 v_> ''Prudence Lynde? Yes, I know her a little. She studied with me one win- ter a few years ago. A beautiful girl with some talent. What about her?'; ' ' Tell me what you know of her. ' ' "What I know of her? Um-m; that isn't so much. Our relations were only those of teacher and pupil. What shall I tell you, old chap!" "Whatever }tou think will interest a man who loves her," answered Miles, quietly. Hunter stared. Then he puffed vig- rously at his pipe. "Where did you meet her?" he as%ed. "Here." ' i Prudence Lynde here ? Ah, I see ; at the Inn. And so you've met her and fallen in love, Miles. Well, well ! ' ' 170 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS He stuffed the ashes down into bowl with a pudgy forefinger. ^S is still here?" "No, she left this morning. That note was from her." ' ' She — refused you ? ' ' "I never asked her. And the note practically informs me that I may just as well save myself the trouble." "Well, well!" said Hunter again, sympathetically. "Er— isn't there any more to tell, old chap ?" "I suppose there is; but what's the use? Do you recollect telling me awhile ago that what I needed was singe my wings? Well, I've done it Hunter. The effect may be educa tional, but it's damned unpleasant!" "I'm sorry," growled his fi He set himself on the other end the window-seat and puffed silently a Q moment. Then, — 171 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS "Prudence Lynde is the daughter of Fergus Lynde," he said. "You prob- ably don't recall him; he was a bit before your time. He was one of the foremost landscape painters in this country until perhaps fifteen years ago. Then he had a paralytic shock, which left him absolutely helpless. He is still alive, but I believe he has been bedridden for years. Prudence is an only child. Her mother died — well, three or four years ago. She — I mean the girl — was studying in Paris at the time. She came home, and since then has been painting landscapes. I've seen her work; she has some of her father's talent, but not — not enough. Still, she sells, I believe, fairly well. Her pictures have the right feeling, Miles, but they're a little — weak. The wonder is, though, that she does as well as she does, for she has her father 172 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS to look after, and a bedridden man must be a terrible burden. He can't even feed himself, they sav. A terri- ble fate, that ! I have one of his can- vases in town. Perhaps you recall it ; over the mantel in the big room; a small thing; a hill-side with a storm just passing over and the sun break- ing through a piled-up mass of ragged clouds ? No ? A wonderful bit ! And worth a lot of money. He wasn't pro- lific, and there aren't many of his pic- tures to be found. The Metropolitan has three, I think, and there are per- haps half a dozen more in this coun- try in private collections. When he had his trouble a number of canvases, most of them unfinished things and sketches, were sold at Buell's Gal- leries for his benefit. I got mine there. Things went pretty well, for we wanted to help him out. ' ' 173 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS "And she looks after him, alone?" asked Miles. "Except when she gets off for a week or two now and then, as she did this time. Then she has an attendant come in. I don't suppose there 's much money. Probably she makes all they have. A very attractive girl I thought her. She was popular, too, at the passes ; they called her — what was it! Ah, yes, the Princess." "The Princess!" muttered Miles. I "Yes, she had a way about her. . . . And then her hair, you know! The Princess, yes, that was it. She was with me only one winter. Then she went to Paris; I gave her letters. I think she was doing very well there when her mother died and, of course, she had to return. I haven't seen her for a year or two, I think. She's as — as beautiful as ever, Miles ? ' ' 174 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS "Yes," answered the other, grimly. ' ' I think she must be. ' ' "I don't blame yon, then; 'pon my sonl I don't! She was only about eighteen when she came to me, but she had every boy there on his knees to her, I fancy ! ' ' "And did she — was she- ?" "Not that I know of; she seemed too busy for affairs, I think." There was silence for a moment. "And this note, Miles?" Miles took it from his pocket and tossed it along the seat. "Read it," he said. Hunter did so, scowling and puffing thick clouds of smoke from under his ragged mous- tache. When he had finished he re- turned the paper to its envelope thoughtfully. M* "Well, she used to be a girl who knew her own mind, old chap," he 175 / £* > ■X-" / 6rchard princess Sk:. c said, finally. "But, just the same' I wouldn't give up hope. There's something queer about that note ; it doesn't sound quite — quite conclu- sive. > ' "It does to me," laughed Miles, bit- terly. ' ' You let her know — she understood that you — cared for her!" "She must have known, although — oh, hang it, Hunter, I acted like forty kinds of a jackass ! I don't know what she thought ! ' ' "How often did you see her?" "Almost every day for a week; I — ' \ I haunted her ! ' ' "Then I guess she had an inkling," ■ said Hunter, sagely. ' ' Women gener- ally know pretty early in the game. \ How did she treat you, Miles?" "She was — she treated me better than I deserved. I behaved like a 176 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS f* I thought— s clown ! Sometimes might care — in time. ' "Well, don't give up now, man. AVhen you see her again " "That's just what I shan't do, don't you see? She asks me not to try." "We-ell," said Hunter. "Maybe. But " "And you've just told me that she's a girl who knows her own mind ! ' ' "Yes, but no woman knows her own mind all the time," responded the other, oracularly. "Take the benefit of the doubt." "I can't. Oh, there's no use tryin to deceive myself. It's as plain as daylight that she doesn't care for mev. I think I bothered her a good deal** perhaps bored her! The one decent ;k thing that's left me to do is to respect ^ her wishes. Oh, there's no use grum- 12 177 s AN ORCHARD PRINCESS bling, Hunter; I dare say I can take my medicine with a grin — after a day or so. But just now" — lie shook his head bewilderedly — "just now I'm all in a heap. The whole thing — seeing her — falling in love — and this note — has been so darned sudden! I feel — well, I sort of feel as though I had been bucked from a broncho and had come down hard ! ' ' "Sorry, Miles," grunted Hunter. "And of course there's nothing I can say. ' ' "No, I guess not, thanks, old chap." "Except to tell you to take it as decently as you can and not to lose hope altogether. Women are plaguey uncertain, Miles ; you can't tell; I've seen queer things in my time. ' ' Miles gave a shake to his shoulders and stood up. "For a bachelor, Hunter," he said, 178 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS with a smile, "you're too know- mg. "Think so?' responded the artist. "Did you ever see a horse-race ?" "Yes." "Well, which do you think had the better view, you or the horses!" XI Miles shook the dust of Maple Green from his shoes two days later. Hunter and Bistre accompanied him to the station in the Inn carryall and said good-by on the platform. Bis- tre was wise, and from the moment Miles had started to throw things into the big yellow bag he had scented a parting. And he had haunted his friend like a shadow from that mo- ment to the last, his brown eyes watching every movement and his stump of a tail wagging on the slightest provocation. "I'm mighty sorry to be leaving you, old fellow," Miles confided to ISO AN ORCHARD PRINCESS him. ' ' You see, Bistre, you were there every time; you saw her, just as I did ; she scratched your head for you, too. Yes, and once she kissed you right here ou this ugly old spot of yours, just as I'm doing, Bistre. Oh, hang it all, Bistre! The world's gone plumb wrong, hasn't it? It's taken the Princess away, our Princess, Bis- tre; I don't mind sharing her with you, old chap; I think you liked her pretty well, too, didn't you? Do you remember her eyes, Bistre? And those little red lips? I wonder — I wonder, if she knew you and I were feeling so rotten bad, whether she wouldn't be just a little bit sorry for us! You'll probably see her some time, you and your master. If you do, Bistre, you make her remember me. Do vou hear?" he demanded, in a fierce whisper. ' ' Make her remember 181 j-mt- me, Bistre. Tell her I loved her loved her! Tell her — — No, don tell her anything, old fellow. Or — ell, if she should ask, tell her I'm taking my medicine like a man. That 's all you need tell her. And now, for heaven's sake, stop looking so woe- begone ! Buck up, you sentimental old rascal ! ' ' "Try and come down for a week or so in the fall if you're still around here," said Hunter, as they shook hands. ' ' And don 't forget that you 're to come to my place when you're in the city. I'll write to you along in September, if I don't see you, and we'll arrange for that trip. I want to se^e some of those cobalt skies you yarn about, and the pink mesas, and all the other impossibly colored things down there. Good-by! Get down, Bistre!" Miles tarried in the city just short 182 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS of a fortnight. Once or twice during that time he almost broke his resolu- tion. Passing along the Avenue he frequently stopped at one of the cross streets to look wistfully along its sun- smitten pavements. Once, late at night, he turned into the forbidden thoroughfare and had approached within a block of her house before he pulled himself up. Then, after a hard struggle, he turned back. "There's to be no compromise," he told himself, sternly. "Either you're going to keep to the letter of the law or you're going to turn traitor; and if you do that you don't deserve Chris- tian burial ! ' ' But always there was the unac- knowledged hope that some day — on the street, in a store or a car — he would meet her. But he never did. And when June came he was trudging **N • AN ORCHARD PRINCESS about the Canadian Northwest with a pack on his shoulders. In September he was back in New York, a little thinner, a little more tanned, a little more resigned. He didn't run out to Maple Green, how- ever; the scar was not yet healed 'enough for that. But Hunter came to town for a day and a night, and the old studio on Eighth Street showed lights in its windows until long after mid- night. There was much to talk of. Miles had seen some things worth the telling, and Hunter had the quiet hap- penings of Maple Green to relate. "What are you going to do now!" asked the artist, when the talk lagged. "I'm off to Colorado in a day or two, ' ' was the answer. ' ' I 'm going to stop with a chap in Denver for a week or two. Then it's Peterson's Ranch and hard work for awhile. The pub- 184 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS lishers, like the chap in Dickens, are crying for more. Well, I've got more, heaps more ; good stuff, too. And I'm ready to go back to work, too. Lord, man, but there's nothing finer in life than having work to do and wanting to do it! Eh? Isn't that so? How's Bistre?" "Fat and lazy. I wrote you that he went into mourning for a week or so after you left, didn 't I ? Why, he wouldn't eat more than twice enough for him ! I never saw him so grumpy ! And he used to go sniffing around the room, and then walk to the door and out into the road, and look up and down, for all the world as though he were searching for you ! ' ' "I dare say he was, dear old dog! Bring him with you when you come West, will you? He'll have the time of his innocent young life out there. /-^- 1S5 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS And you'll be along in October, you say? That's good. I'll meet you at Galveston, if you're coining by steamer, so you won't get lost. And I'll give you a good time, old chap. By the way, have you — have you heard anything of Miss Lynde lately?" "Not a thing. I suppose she's in town here. You — you've never seen her?" "No, I've never seen her," an- swered Miles, gravely. "Hum; I thought maybe you'd change your mind, Miles. ' ' "No. . . . Well, shall we turn in?" -v XII Miles returned from the West three days before Christmas, alighting at the Grand Central Station at the be- ginning of a dull, muggy afternoon. He had himself conveyed, bag and baggage, to Hunter B rough's apart- ment. The artist, he was informed, was out of town for the day, but would be back in time for dinner, and had left word that Mr. Fallon was to take possession of his usual room and make himself at home. This Miles pro- ceeded to do. After a bath, to eradi- cate the grime of a four days ' railway journey, he unpacked his trunk, dressed, and then settled down with 187 in front of a smouldering sof his pi coal fire in the studio. By the tim lps pipe had burned out a little snow- storm had set in, and Miles, fresh from unclouded skies and eternal sun- shine, donned his rain-coat and went out. It was a trifling snow that melted as soon as it reached the dirty pave- ments, but it was something' of a nov- elty and therefore enjoyable. Miles turned at the Avenue and loitered up town. The city was in holiday garb. The shop windows looked their finest, gar- lands and wreaths of holly and laurel adorned the buildings, and along the urbs itinerant venders of crawling aW hopping tin toys did a thriving business. Even the faces of the hurry- ing shoppers betokened something of the Christmas spirit. Miles dodged between yellow cars and mud-splashed 1SS AN ORCHARD PRINCESS T liansoms and, reaching the fartlie^gt of Madison Square, went on up the Avenue. At the crossings the arc lights were springing into life, purple in the twilight, spluttering and pro- testing. One by one the windows along the way became radiant. At a jeweller's Miles stopped to purchase a scarf-pin for Hunter. Coming out again, he paused to button his coat against the wet flakes, and his gaze, wandering to the next window, fixed itself upon an object that sent his ; heart jumping about inside of him a absurdly as one of the ridiculous tin toys. Striding to the window, h pressed his nose against the wet glass. The shop was a picture dealer's, and the window, aglow with yellow liglrby held half a dozen framed canvases. Upon one of them Miles gazed eagerly, and the darkening street vanished, 1S9 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS and lie was once more under the apple- trees with the Princess. Before him was the glade, agleam with sunlight, fresh with the tender green of spring. The tiny brook, almost hidden by the lush grass and clumps of forget-me- nots, wandered away toward the road, and the blossom-laden trees nar- rowed toward it. Beyond was a blur of distant hills, and above was a radiant blue sky with a single fluffy cloud afloat upon it. December van- ished. It was April once more. He could hear the trickling music of the sun-flecked stream, the trilling of the birds, and the droning of the bees. Then his eyes fell to a little tablet set at the bottom of the frame, and through the blurred glass he read : " The April joy of the blossoming world, And the charm of April days." 190 y AN ORCHARD PRINCESS He didn't need the signature in the lower corner of the canvas to tell him the artist's name; that "P. Lynde" was quite superfluous. An instant later he was inside, facing a dignified, frock-coated salesman. "I want to ask the price of that pic- ture in the window, the one by Miss Lynde," he announced. The salesman refreshed his memory by a glance at the object in question. "Fifty dollars, sir," he replied. "A charming thing; quite one of the best I have seen by the artist ; a typi- cal example of her finest work. ' ' "Fifty dollars?" repeated Miles. "You — er — you don't think she would take more ? ' ' "MoreV exclaimed the salesman. "You mean less?" "No, I mean more," said Miles, firmly. 191 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS ' ' Why, I — I suppose we are empow- ered to get the highest price possible for the picture," replied the other, viewing Miles narrowly. "Fifty dol- lars is an extremely low figure to place on a picture of that sort, and " "Exactly!" said Miles, eagerly. "My own idea! I thought that possi- bly seventy-five — or eighty ?" "Suppose you place your own fig- ure," suggested the salesman. "Let me bring the picture where you can see it. There! Now, I call that a remarkable piece of work, sir. Ob- serve the lighting, sir. Splendid, isn't it?" ' ' Splendid, ' ' answered Miles, warmly. "I — er- — I forgot to say that if I bought the picture I should want to have it now. ' ' 1 i We can deliver it this evening, sir, to any address in the city." 192 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS "I won't trouble you; I'll just take it with rue. ' ' "Certainly, sir; and the price? You said eighty, I think?" "One hundred, I believe, was it not!" "Yes, yes; my mistake. I'll have it done up carefully, sir. What name, please?" "Er— Mr. Smith." Twenty minutes later Miles walked into Hunter's apartment carrying a three-by-two picture swathed in brown wrapping paper. After the greetings were over, and Bistre had chewed Miles 's hand to his heart's content, Hunter looked curiously at the object. "What you got there?" he asked. "A picture?" "Yes, it's a Christmas present to myself. I'll show it to you after dinner." 13 193 dinner the paper wa emoved and Miles set the^ i chair for his friend's "I don't want any criticisms," he warned. "I bought that because I liked it, and I don't give a continental hang if the drawing's wrong, or the arrangement out of plumb, or the colors garish, or— or anything." "All right, my lad; I won't criti- cise. All I've got to say is, that it's the best thing I ever knew her to do ; and if she can do that sort of thing right along she'll make a name for herself. Where 'd you pick it up?" "Blamed if I know; some shop afyove Madison Square, on the Ave- nue. ) i ' i I suppose you know the scene ? ' ' "Yes, I — I was there." " Ah ! " said Hunter. ' ' And that re- 194 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS minds me. We're going out to, tin Green to-morrow to stay over Christ- mas ? Do you mind?" "Xo, I think not. But what's the idea?" "Oh, just a notion. I thought it would be rather jolly to spend the day out of town; New York's so sicken- ingly ugly and dull on Christmas. I went out there to-day and got things ready. And I've persuaded the Rug- gieses and Horace Taft and his wife to go out, too. So we'll have quite a{^k cosey party at dinner. ' ' He turne " to the mantel and began to fill his pipe from the old earthen jar. "The Ru gleses are going to bring a friend 0± along, too." "All right," said Miles, absentQy his eyes on the picture. "More the merrier, I suppose. ' ' "Well, that's what I thought," an- 195 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS swered Hunter, stealing a glance at him. "By the way, Miles, I suppose you've got over that — that trouble of yours by this time ? ' ' "Trouble?" asked Miles. "I mean — Miss Lynde." ' < Oh, ' ' said Miles. ' ' Well, I shan 't moon around the premises like a love- sick school-boy, if that is what you mean. As for getting over it No, I don't think I have, Hunter. I've come to realize, however, that a fellow can't have everything he wants in this world." That's true," grunted the artist. "But I haven't got through want- added the other, softly. i i don't honestly think I ever shall." There was silence for a moment. Then,— "Have you heard about her father?" Hunter asked. 196 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS < ' Her father f No, what I ' ' "He's dead; died in October. I heard of it when I returned from your place. Quite a lot of us old-timers attended. Well, I guess he was glad enough, poor chap ; I dare say he had been praying for it for years. ' ' "And — Miss Lynde?" asked Miles, thoughtfully. "She's still here; lives at the same jDlace, Miss Anamite told me ; working harder than ever, I suppose. Do you know, old chap, I've been wondering whether" — he paused to push the tobacco down in the bowl — "whether that didn't have something to do with it." "What!" "Well, whether she might not have treated vou differently if she hadn't had her father to look after. It's just an idea." 197 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS Miles considered the proposition silentlv. Then, — "I wish I could think so," he an- swered, "but — no, I don't believe it was that." ' ' Well, anyway, if vou see her again it might be well to — ah — find out." "Thanks," answered Miles, non- committingly. "By the way," said the artist, pres- ently, "I've got my copy of the new novel; much obliged. I haven't had time to look into it yet. What's it about?" \"Oh, the usual things," answered the other. "Must be selling pretty well, from what I hear?" "Remarkably well, yes. I wish to heaven I cared ! ' ' Miles was afflicted with terrible dreams that night, which finally left 19S AN ORCHARD PRINCESS him wide-awake in a tremor of fright, and with a terrible feeling of oppres- sion in his chest. Investigation soon discovered the cause in the shape of Bistre, who was curled up fast asleep s. on Miles 's breast. He was removed, grunting protestingly, to another loca- tion, and after that Miles 's slumber was undisturbed. They journeyed out to Maple Green the next afternoon, reaching the studio after dark. Lights gleamed from the Tafts' cottage, and from that sacred to the maiden presence of the Misses Buggies. After supper Hunter pro- posed a call on the latter. Miles begged to be excused, and, after a moment of perplexity, finding his pleadings in vain, Hunter went out alone. Miles spent the evening in front of a big log fire with his pipe and a book. But the book was more 199 l! y frequently on his knees than in h hands. Hunter came back at nine an the two went early to bed, the artist to fall instantly into loud slumber, Miles to lie long with his wide-open eyes fixed on the clear winter sky, in which a big white moon sailed gloriously. After breakfast was over in the morning, the two set about decorating the house. Piles of evergreen had been gathered by Hunter's orders, and now they were dragged inside and heaped lavishly wherever space al- lowed. In the midst of the work Hunter leaped suddenly from the chair upon which he had stood pre- cariously winding evergreen above a picture, and hurried to the front win- dow. Then he carelessly went to the door, opened it, and looked out. "By Jupiter, Miles, but this is a great morning ! ' ' he exclaimed. 200 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS "Fine,'' answered Miles, ta sprays above the long window. "Yes, but yon don't realize how fine it is," said the other, impatiently. "Come here and have a taste of this air j j "I'm not hungry," was the reply. Nevertheless, he stepped down and crossed to the door. "Look at the sunlight on those fields!" said Hunter, enthusiastically. "And look at that sky!" "All right," answered Miles. \ ' ' Very nice sunlight, very satisfactory sky. It seems to be blue to-day ; quite a surprise, isn't it ? I don't blame yor for being startled, old chap ; blue skies aren't so common around this part ^ the world that " "Look up the road there, too," in- terrupted the other. "See the way the light falls between those cedars.". 201 . Vf/; AN ORCHARD PRINCESS "Hum, yes, nice effect; but don't you think we'd better get on with— ?> Miles stopped short. There was K"^something else besides light between flie cedars. A girl in a black dress was moving slowly away up the road. The blood rushed into Miles 's face, re- ceded, and left it white as the little snow-bank beside the stoop. He turned with startled eyes on Hunter. "Miss Lynde!" he whispered. "It does look like her," answered the other, calmly. "But — what's she doing here?" "Visiting the Euggleses. Didn't I tell you they had a guest f ' ' "This is your doing, Hunter!" "What of it, you idiot? Get your hat!" "What do you mean?" asked Miles, breathlessly. 202 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS "I mean you're wasting a lot of val- uable time stopping here to ask ques- tions. Don't be a fool, Miles Fallon !" Miles looked from the artist to the black speck up the road. Then he looked back again. Then he dashed into the house. Then he dashed out. So did Bistre. XIII The earth rang underfoot like metal, but overhead was an April sky, a sky as deep a blue as ever arched over Venice. Not a cloud flecked it. The sunlight bathed the brown fields and russet meadows with plate of gold and sprinkled the furrows with dia- ^monds where the frost-crystals lay. The air was at once mellow and pun- gent, like old wine newly spiced. Here and there, along the shadowed lees of banks or 'neath the tangles of way- side bushes, lay little drifts of snow, winter's seals of possession. The maples across the ravine were stark and silent, but along the borders of the fields sentinel cedars stood erect and watchful in green uniforms. On southern slopes the grass still held its summer hue, and against the warm gray bole of a withered beech a tiny woodpecker beat a cheerful tattoo. It 204 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS was as though Nature had found a day mislaid from Indian summer and had frugally tucked it into December. Miles climbed the breach in the stone wall and went softly through the orchard. The gnarled, low-spreading trees were deep in their winter slum- ber. Beneath them the turf was car- peted thickly with leaves limp and brown. There were no clustered blos- soms to obstruct his view, and, once over the wall, Miles could see the sun- lit glade and the little brook, its course marked by a ribbon of crystal blue. Beside the brook, looking toward the road, as though striving to reproduce in mind the scene she had put upon canvas, stood the Princess. Her back was toward him, and, with fast-beat- ing heart, Miles went softly down the slope. But Bistre was little inclined for such slow going, and so, while •20.") x tf N ORCHARD PRINCESSES* Miles was still a dozen paces distan he broke / the spell of the girl' thoughts by a frantic, ecstatic leap against her skirt. She turned, startled, and, with just a glance for Bistre, looked toward Miles. He saw the color flood her cheeks, and, in spite of his own blissful confusion of mind and senses, noted the smile that leaped into her eyes. She stood with out- stretched hand, blue-eyed, golden- haired, radiant-cheeked, while he cov- ered swiftly the space between them. His heart and eyes had hungered for her during half a year ; he was mazed with the happiness that surged through him ; his hand ached for the touch of hers ; and so, having reached her, he clasped the gloved fingers in his for just a moment, and, — "How do you do?" he asked, politely. 206 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS Even Bistre saw the humor oJr|jr_ WA \ ^ "r. and grinned broadly, with hanging tongue. "How do you do, Mr. Fallon!" re- sponded Prudence. Then they looked at each other, smilingly, for a breath- less instant, and perhaps something in the steady, eager gaze of his eyes moved her to hurried words. "I — I had no idea 3*011 were here !" she said. "And I didn't know you were here,': he answered, "until a few moments ago. You are stopping with ^ the Euggleses?" "Yes; and you, of course, are witfi Mr. Brough?" "Yes." ^, Again there was a little silence The color which had faded from hef> cheeks crept back. "He said nothing of it last night," she said, perplexed. 207 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS "No, neither did he mention your presence to me,'' responded Miles, meaningly. "It — it has every look of a conspiracy, don't you think?" Her eyes dropped and a tiny smile flickered about her lips. "Miss Anamite has been acting very lysteriously," she answered. "I think now I understand. ' ' "Oh, there's no doubt but what we Ve been made the victims of a deep- laid conspiracy," he declared, cheer- fully, watching her face. "And I am a very happy victim. ' ' "It's nice of you to take it so well," she murmured. She turned and gazed about her. "It doesn't look much as it did when we saw it last, does it?" she asked, lightly. "No, very little as it did when I saw it last, ' ' he answered, meaningly. ' ' I spent a morning here waiting for you ; 20S y AN ORCHARD PRINCESS and you didn't come. It was a very empty place that day." ''But you got on better with your picture, perhaps," she laughed, "with- out disturbance." "No, I decided not to paint that pic- ture. And it is just as well, for I've found one since then that serves much better." "Yes?" she said, questioningiy. But he did not enlighten her. Instead, with a glance at her sombre gown and a lowering of his voice, he said- " You've had a great misfortune since then, Hunter tells me. I am very sorry, Miss Lynde. " "Thank you," she answered, softly. "But my father's death was not so painful to me as it would have been had he wanted to live. Mr. Brough told you about him ? It was a welcome relief to him, and for his sake I try to 209 14 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS be glad. But I have missed him ter- ribly; we were together almost every moment. ' ' "I can understand that," said Miles, gravely. "I fancy you have been very lonely." He paused. "I wish I might have seen him once, ' ' he said, regretfully. "He saw very few persons," she nswered. "He was very patient through it all, but — I think he tried always to forget." She began to move away toward the road. "You are not going so soon?" he asked. "Won't you stay a little longer? It is very early, look at the shadows. ' ' "If vou wish," she answered. "1 have nothing to do all day long ; they won't let me paint." "They're quite right," he said, de- 210 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS 1 1 u cidedly. "You've been working too hard, I'm sure; you don't look as well as you did in the spring. ' ' "Don't I?" she asked, with a smile. "But I feel quite well." "I think it's remorse," he said, with a shake of his head. "Remorse?" she questioned. ; Yes ; I — I got your note. ' ' My note ? Yes, I supposed you had," she said, looking away. "And I did as you asked me," he went on, softly. ' ' I never sought you, although it was the hardest task I ever set myself. I almost kicked over the traces once, Prudence." She cast a little startled glance at him aud swayed as though about to take flight. He put his hand gently on her arm and she stood still, her eyes on the ground. "Why did you do it?" he asked. 211 \ ) ' ' Why /aid vou write that note ? /you think I would follow you?" ' ' Please ! ' ' she whispered. "Did you, Prudence? For if you did, you thought rightly. I would have found you sooner or later, you know. Tell me, please; why did you write it?" For a long moment she made no answer. Then, slowly, she raised her face until her eyes were on his. "I wrote it because," she began, bravely, "because — Then the lashes fell over the blue eyes. "But what can it matter," she faltered, "why I wrote it?" \ "I would like to know," he an- sVered, gravely. "You see, it wasn't as though I was just the acquaint- ance you called me, 'one of the few acquaintances,' Prudence. You must have known that ! It mattered to me, 212 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS a whole lot, clear, and it still mat^ You can't make a man suffer as you made me suffer without its matter- ing. Whv did you write it?" "Oh, please!'1 she said, quickly, with a swift, beseeching glance. "I didn't mean you to suffer! I didn't think you — cared — so much ! ' ' "Cared! Why, I loved you, dear! Do you know what that means I That I thought of you day in and day out, and longed for just a glimpse of you as a ' thirsty man longs for water ! That I'd have given anything in the world for just the chance to see you and touch you and hear you speak, for just the chance that is mine this moment! Cared! Is that caring?' ' ' Oh, yes, yes ! ' ' she cried. ' ' ' caring! Don't you think I know! Don't you think I— I- -!" She stopped, breathlessly, her 213 J UlZ AN ORCHARD PRINCESS cheeks warm with blushes, her red lips atremble, her eyes falling before his. ' ' Prudence ! " he whispered, hoarsely. "Prudence! Think what you 're saying, dear ! Do you mean it ? Do you, sweetheart ? ' ' His arms closed about her until the bent head was against his shoulder. Bistre, observing from a yard away, yawned cynically. The slim shoul- ders quivered under the black jacket, and when, at last, the blue eyes found courage to raise themselves to his, little tears trembled within them. Bending slowly, he kissed them, and they closed under his lips. Then, while they were still closed and might not see, he bent yet lower. The eyes opened and she struggled gently until she was very far away from him — oh, quite twelve inches ! Then — 214 "I>0 YOU KNOW WHAT YOl'VK DONE?" SHE ASKED AN ORCHARD PRINCESS "Do you know what you've done?" she asked, with a little tremulous laugh. ' ' Done ? I 've kissed the Princess ! ' ' he answered, triumphantly. "I've kissed the woman I love better than all the world and all that the world has in it!" She crept back to him until his arms were again close about her. "Oh, yes, yes!" she sighed, hap- pily. ' ' Say it again — please ! ' ' "That I love you?" The head against his shoulder nodded shyly. "I shan't," he answered, sternly, "until you have said it." "Then listen!" she whispered. He listened, but for a moment the only sound he heard was the beating of his heart and the hollow gurgling of the little brook under its skim 215 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS of ice. Then, like a breath, it reached him, — ' ' I love you — Miles ! ' ' "Say it again!" he cried, eagerly. She shook her head, laughing softly. "It's your turn," she whispered. I fear I shall tire you," he an- swered, in simulated concern. "No, you won't," she answered, ou see Oh, I've wanted to be loved so ! " she cried, with a little catch in her voice. "I've been so — so lonely ! ' ' Presently, but not until Bistre had .yawned again twice, she was standing away from him, blushing, radiant, happy, her hands busy with her golden hair. ' ' And now I '11 tell you why I wrote it," she said. ' ' Oh, I don 't care now, ' ' he laughed, joyfully. 216 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS "But — but I want to! I wrote it because I was afraid!" "Afraid? Afraid of what? Of me!" "No, that is, not exactly. I was afraid you would make me love you, and — and I couldn't have — then." She paused, thoughtfully. "But I did!" she cried, exultingly. ' ' I don 't understand ! ' ' "Well, if you had — had said what you have said now, I might have — have- " "I wish to heaven I had!" he groaned. "But I couldn't have then, don't vou see?" she went on, earnestly. "I couldn't have left father. There was no one else to look after him; lie needed me every minute of his life. And I was afraid — afraid !" "But you might have told me, Pru- 217 r f ' , AN ORCHARD PRINCESS dence! I wouldn't have asked you to leave him, dear. I could have helped you. ' ' "I was afraid," she repeated, doubtfully. "I was afraid — of my- self!" "Do you know, dear," he asked, a little later, "that this is Christmas Day?" ' ' I had quite forgotten it ! " she ex- claimed, in surprise. "And so had I," he answered. ' ' But now, with my Christinas present in my arms, I can't very well help re- membering. How do you like being a Christinas present ? ' ' "I — I like it," she murmured. "Only — only I don't think I am very much of a one. ' ' "The best man ever had, my Prin- cess!" he answered, softly. J ' Princess ? ' ' she asked. ' ' Was that y 218 AN ORCHARD PRINCESS the name you said you had for me — once?" she asked, shyly. "Yes," he answered. -That was the name I gave you the very first moment I saw you here among the apple blossoms with the sunlight on your hair." "Really?" she asked, looking won- deringly into his face. Then, "I don't think I could have looked much like a princess," she said, regretfully, "with an old white dress on." "Ah, but you did," he answered, stoutlv. "The dearest, fairest, most beautiful princess in all the world; my Orchard Princess!" Stooping, he kissed her smiling mouth. Then, side by side, with the little brook singing a happy paean to their ears, they passed down the sunlit glade. So did Bistre. 219